


Back to You

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Castiel (Supernatural) Being an Asshole, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Cock Cages, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom Drop, Dom Rowena MacLeod, Dom/sub, Endgame Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Rated Balthazar/Castiel, Future Dean/Castiel, Humiliation, Impact Play, Inadequate Aftercare, Inspired by a Selena Gomez Song, M/M, Mature Rated Castiel/Samandriel, Mature Rated Dean/Rowena, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Meg is Plotting, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Past Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Past Castiel/Dean Winchester, Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Public Humiliation, Reunions, Rough Sex, Rowena is Plotting, Samandriel Deserves Better, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub Balthazar (Supernatural), Sub Dean Winchester, Sub Drop, Sub Samandriel (Supernatural), Switching, The Once and Future Relationship, Therapy, Top Dean Winchester, Under-negotiated Kink, Vibrators, past break up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: In the two years since Castiel and Dean's relationship fell apart, neither has been able to move on.It'd help if they didn't frequent the same damn BDSM club.Inspired by the Selena Gomez song "Back to You."See author's notes for more information about wtf is going on with this fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a fic inspired by the Selena Gomez song [Back to You](https://youtu.be/GNGbmg_pVlQ) for ages, and here we are. That link is to the video, [this one is to the lyrics.](https://genius.com/Selena-gomez-back-to-you-lyrics) I think that even a brief acquaintance with them will help explain the weird tagging on this fic, so if you know the song, you'll have some idea what to expect. I mean, the chorus of the song is, "I want to hold you when I'm not supposed to - when I'm lying close to someone else." So. There's that.
> 
> When this fic starts, sub Dean is with dom Rowena and dom Castiel is trying to use other subs to forget Dean. Thus, there is content ranging from teen+ to explicit rating of each of them with others. Dean DOES NOT have sex with Rowena in this fic - they have teen+-to-mature rated scening, and there's mention of cunnilingus, but nothing in explicit detail. Castiel DOES NOT have sex with Samandriel/Alfie but he DOES have sex with Balthazar, explicit, in this fic, so if that's a deal breaker for you, don't read it.
> 
> I've probably forgotten about a dozen tags, even though there are already a lot. It's a hard fic to warn for. I'll add them as I think of them.
> 
> If you have any questions about the content of this fic, feel free to ask me in the comments or on Discord - unforth#6748. In general I'm hardly using social media these days - I poke my Tumblr once or twice a week and haven't opened PF in months - but I use Discord daily so that's by far the best way to get in contact with me.
> 
> This fic is not done but I've got the first 8k or so written. I'm expecting it to be around 20k, maybe longer depending on just how much Dean and Cas decide to talk about their feelings and fuck when they finally get back together. It'll probably be around 10 chapters, most shortish, and I'm hoping to have it done in time to stick to a posting schedule of once a day, but don't be shocked if that doesn't quite happen. (10 chapters is a guess, we'll see how it goes.)
> 
> Sorry about all my other WIP. They're not abandoned, promise, it's just so hard to write at all right now that I'm letting my brain flit from project to project rather than attempting to make myself focus.
> 
> Oh and if you want to read this story as I write it, and you're on the Profound Bond server, check out the #story-time channel, I've been live writing most of my recent stories there because it motivates me. This is an edited version of content I've already posted there.

"Oh, oh, you should kn--"

Eyes narrowing, Castiel glared at Becky and she silenced with a squeak. That she was at the club at all was a never-ending source of frustration, sitting on a bar stool near the wristbands club-goers used to denote what kind of play they sought. She was neither a dom nor she a sub - as far as Castiel could tell, she was a voyeur, deriving enjoyment from watching all of them doing their thing - and she was  _ fucking annoying _ . That she'd deigned to speak with him...Castiel took up a black wristband - dom, one night stand - and walked past the nuisance.

"Dean's here," she called timidly after him.

Castiel froze.

_ It's been two damn years - how does she know that Dean and I are anything to each other? _

_ Does everyone fucking know? _

_ How? _

Looking back over his shoulder, Castiel spared Becky a withering glance and proceeded into the low light of the club. Music thumped a driving rhythm, soft enough to allow conversation, loud enough to grant an illusion of privacy to knots of people talking and dancing and scening. Searching the crowd for what he needed, definitely  _ not  _ searching for Dean damn Winchester, Castiel's heartbeat synced with the racing tempo of the electronica.

_ Yes. The music. That's the only reason I’m excited. _

_ What other reason could I conceivably have? _

_ What's Dean to me? _

Tables were scattered around the dance floor, some vacant, some crowded, and then there were those Castiel sought, occupied by individuals, forlorn, solo. All looked lost in different ways, some with hands cupped around drinks and eyes fixed on the liquid's surface, some watching the dance floor with apparent abstraction, some with gazes trailing hopefully after everyone who walked by. 

_ Everything. _

Among those stag optimistics was the one sub Castiel would be taking home that night. 

_ Huh? _

He cut a purposeful path toward the nearest such person, a middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard. The light picked out his wristband - blue, a dom looking for a service sub for regular meetings - and veered toward the next table. 

_ Dean is everything to me. _

A passing sub, yellow and pink wrist bands promising a love of humiliation and golden showers, flinched away from Castiel's suddenly furious gaze. 

_ Thanks for that, brain. Thanks for absolutely fucking nothing. _

"Castiel." Rowena's melodious voice arrested him, a queen deigning to speak to her subjects. Gritting his teeth, Castiel turned, not bothering to conceal his rictus of anger. Rowena stood behind him, dressed like a queen in truth in a floor-length gown, the curls of her red hair elegantly draped about her shoulders. She raised the wine glass she delicately held in one hand, a mocking salute. 

Her other hand held the leash.

Because of course it did.

_ Think of the devil and he shall appear...towed along by a dom who can never resist showing off her prize. _

Dean looked...tame, pliant, submissive, of course...absolutely gorgeous...he wore almost nothing. A black leather studded thong hugged his hips, fabric tracing the hard, unnatural lines of a cock cage. Matching bands encircled his shoulders and wrists. The black straps of leather sandals wrapped around his legs to the knee, highlighting shapely calves. Oil made his skin glow golden and neon in the club’s erratic lighting. He might have been fresh from a porn shoot, “Submissive Gladiators Compete for Dominatrix Queens Approval,” something cheesy like that. Dean was, clearly, decisively, always the victor of such a battle...except, as Rowena's leash, tethered to a leather collar, black, spiked, showy and pointless, proved, Rowena was the  _ true _ victor, and to the victor when the spoils.

Dean was the spoils.

_ That would imply that Rowena and I ever battled for him, though, when in truth, I couldn’t have driven him away more thoroughly had I tried. That he went to her after was his choice, not hers, and that he’s still with her suggests he’s happy. _

But he didn’t look happy. Dean looked…

...quietly miserable, Castiel thought, noting the slump of Dean's shoulders and the drop of his head. When Dean was content, he was brazen, defiant, proud of his submission and even more proud of the dom strong enough to put him in his place. Meekness, complacency, shame, had no part of Dean’s submission.

_ Of course he's unhappy. In that outfit? He's no exhibitionist. But Rowena is exhibitionist enough for both of them. _

_ No. That was the kind of sub he was when he was with  _ me _. Who he is with Rowena? Is no one’s business but theirs. _

_ Except that she spoke to me, drew my attention to this mockery, this travesty. She wanted me to see, wanted me to know… _

_...what? _

_ That they’re here together? That Dean is happy to play the bootlicker for her? That--? _

_ Oh, what does it matter? _

"Rowena." The deepness of Castiel's voice betrayed his fury, betrayed the sadness that fury barely hid. Rowena wouldn’t recognize the tone - she didn't know him well enough - but he recognized his own icy uncertainty, and certainly Dean did as well, for he grimaced, eyes flicking up from the ground by Rowena's feet to take in Castiel's expression. 

"Dean."

Dean flinched and looked away again, shoulders slumping that much more.

_ This is how I sounded when I told him he wasn't allowed to come for a month. _

_ This is how I sounded when I reminded him that he'd sworn that he wouldn't drink. _

_ This is how I sounded when I came, riding him, screaming his name. _

_ So not only the voice of unhappiness. _

_...but... _

_ This is how I sounded when I said we'd never be reconciled and he should leave and not come back. _

Dean's expression was a mask, a cipher, stiff and closed and lowered.

Not because he didn't feel, didn't remember - Castiel knew better than anyone how deeply, profoundly, Dean felt things - but because he was a good sub, an amazing sub, and knew how to contain himself, would subsume everything of himself in order to meet whatever directives Rowena had given him for the night.

_ Either that or he can look at me without remembering, like a normal person who actually knows how to move on. _

"Having a good night?" There was a smug lilt to Rowena's voice.

Of course there was.

She knew Dean was a prize.

_ And I doubt she cares about him in any other respect. She doesn't know how to train him, how to use him, how to bring out his best. If she did, she’d never have put him in a damn  _ cage _ , like he’s some amateur who doesn’t know how to control himself. She doesn't know how to... _

_ And I do? _

_ Can I pretend I had the least clue how to make Dean happy? _

_ Every mistake he made when we were together, I drove him to. _

A young man walked by, skittish, hands held awkwardly, pale blue wrist band on his left wrist.

A sub.

A very attractive sub.

_ But he's not Dean. _

"Better, now," said Castiel, starting after the man. "If you'll excuse me?"

Rowena's mocking laughter followed Castiel as he strode to catch up with the sub. A quick pivot brought him into the man's path. Startled, the sub stopped so abruptly he stumbled, caught himself, and offered Castiel a sheepish grin.

"Hey, uh, sorry."

"My name is Castiel," said Castiel, gruff, angry. The sub's smile wavered, gaze flicking to Castiel's wrist band and then back to his face, pale eyes meeting Castiel's. "Your behavior toward me is unacceptable. I will teach you proper manners, if you come back to my apartment."

The sub hesitated, looking from Castiel's face, to the wrist band, to the rest of the club, and back. "Okay, yeah. Sure. Sounds awesome."

Castiel quirked a withering eyebrow at the him. "Is that how you talk to me, boy?"

"Oh!" He gulped. "Um. Right. Sorry, sir." And he finally lowered his gaze with a semblance of proper obeisance.

It was a start.

But he had so much to learn - so much to be taught, forcibly, to do correctly - and Castiel had only one night to teach him.

Just like Dean.

"What's your name, toy?"

It was  _ supposed _ to be one night.

"Alfie."

It was supposed to be a quick lesson.

"Here are the ground rules, Alfie."

It was supposed to mean nothing.

"You will obey my commands, promptly and faithfully."

_ I can lie to everyone but myself. _

"You will take what punishment I mete out, and thank me for the honor."

_ Dean meant everything. _

"And you will not come."

_...Dean...maybe...possibly...just a smidge... _

"Do you consent to these conditions?"

_...lie to everyone by myself... _

"Yes, sir."

_ Dean  _ still _ means everything to me. _

"Excellent."

_ But maybe, if I spank Alfie’s ass hard enough, for one evening, I can forget Dean. _

"Come along, boy. It's going to be a long night."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mmmm." A replete sound accompanied Rowena's long stretch, gloved arms high over her head, slinky dress accentuating her height. "It was nice to go out tonight..." Rolling her shoulders, she glided to where Dean stood, waiting, beside the door. Even in her apartment, he felt exposed, nearly naked, trapped by the leash she'd hung over a hook to clue him in that she expected him to stay there until she was ready for him. That she'd made him wear the scant outfit at the club was par for the course; that she'd also made him wear it on the walk there and the walk back was a profound punishment. 

He had no idea what he'd done wrong.

Judging by the smug, pleased look on her face as she looked him over, she might not perceive it as a punishment.

_ She doesn't get me at all. _

_ Not like-- _

_ Don't think about it. _

"Deanie sweetie," she lilted, giving his cheek a gentle pat, "if I take off your leash will you be a good boy?"

He stood, impassive, waiting for permission to reply.

Frustrated, she tsked with a click of her tongue. "If I ask you a direct question I expect an answer."

_ Oh, is that today's rule? Awesome. _

_ I wish she was consistent. _

_ Like-- _

_ Don't think about it. _

"I'm at you're command, mistress." Dean struggled to put in a show of meekness, eyes lowered to the toes of Rowena's heels, barely visible beneath the hem of her gown. The hand on his cheek slid to his chin, thumb digging in as she jerked his face up and eyed him critically. 

"Are you really?" Her smile was saccharine sweet and, Dean knew from months as her favorite and least favorite toy, extremely dangerous. "Your thoughts seem...elsewhere."

_ Don't pretend you don't know what's on my mind. _

She forced his face to the left, to the right, eyes narrowing. 

_ Don't pretend you don't know  _ exactly _ what you're doing to me when you dress me like this, take me to that club, deliberately draw  _ his _ attention. _

"Very distracted."

_ Don't pretend you don't know our history. _

"Very unacceptable."

_ Everyone knows. _

"Dean..."

_ I wish I knew  _ why _ everyone knows. _

She patted his cheek once...

...the glint of disgust on Castiel's handsome face...

...twice...

...the fury twisting his voice...

...three times...

...the perfection of that gorgeous body clad in slacks, a button up, and a vest...

...each time closer to a slap than the previous.

_ How am I supposed to forget him when I keep fucking  _ seeing _ him? _

"Very well." She snapped back from him, posture perfect, royalty talking to her scullion. "I believe you, moppet." She unclipped the leash, dropping it to swing and clink against the wall. "Now, do your chores like a good boy."

Like  _ a good boy. Because I'm not actually a good boy, never a good enough boy for her. _

"Another harrumph like that and you'll be doing everything while wearing your bit gag," she added with a tut tut, dress sweeping behind her as she turned and strode regally to her sofa.

Rowena had all the affectations of a queen, but for that her apartment was prosaic. Dean was intimately familiar with it, considering how many hours he'd spent cleaning every inch of it until it sparkled. As she settled into a studied lounging position, kicking off her heels with a content sigh, Dean disconsolately walked to his cubby and retrieved his knee pads - her only concession to the intensity of the labor she expected of him. With every step, his cock cage brushed against his thighs, pushed uncomfortably against his balls by the tightness of his leather thong.

_ She doesn't even trust me not to come. _

Every action, he struggled toward proper comportment. He put on his pads. But he didn't want to. He retrieved his cleaning tools. But he didn't want to. He swept the living room, careful not to obstruct her view of The Real Housewives. But he didn't want to. He feather dusted the curtains. But he didn't want to. He wiped wood polish into the tall bookcases.

_ I like you, _ she'd said once upon a time,  _ you can reach the top shelf without a ladder and get my books down for me. _

That was the only reason she'd ever given for liking him.

He didn't want to polish her fucking wood.

He didn't even want her to polish  _ his _ fucking wood.

_ She doesn't even think I can control myself without this damn cage to stop me from getting an erection. _

He stowed the caddy of living room cleaning supplies and headed to the kitchen.

_ She doesn’t like me. _

He'd be scrubbing it for the next hour.

_...fuck, most of the time I think she might hate me. _

But he didn't want to.

_...not like... _

And he didn't derive one iota of submissive pleasure from the knowledge that, regardless of what he wanted, this was what his domme wanted.

_ Do not think about it. _

_ Think about Rowena. _

_ Think about her expectations, her desires. What does she want from me? _

_ Not my cock. She likes having a drudge. She's happy she doesn't have to hire a maid. _

_ What the hell am I even doing here? _

_ Where the fuck else would I go? Cas made it damn clear - and nothing that's happened since has suggested one whit different - no one wants me around just for me. _

So Dean washed the dishes, scrubbed the glass top, wiped the counters, sprayed down the backsplash. He'd done this so many times, so many days, just the same, that he had the task order memorized. Rowena paid him no mind, didn't check on him, didn't watch his efforts. She trusted Dean to snake her fucking pipes but not to snake her pipes...

...didn’t trust him not to jizz in her fricken pussy when she said not to...

...not that they had sex anymore. How could they, when she never took his cage off? His mouth was good enough for oral, his tongue satisfying on her clit, but the rest of him?

_ Useless. _

_ Except holding a sponge or retrieving things from the top damn shelf. _

_ Cas knew how to use me. Cas knew how to make me feel good. Cas knew how to make me submit, make me behave. _

_ I miss him so fucking much. _

_ Don't think about-- _

"What are you doing?"

Dean went stiff, sponge stilling as he tried to get a pasta sauce stain off the floor tiles. Thank God for the damn knee pads, or his knee caps would have ground into the ceramic.

"Cleaning the floor, mistress," he muttered, and  _ fuck _ did he sound resentful.

_ I have to behave, have to be good, or else... _

_...or else what? She'll punish me? She'll deny me? She's already made me go out in this outfit, already made me wear this cage for a month, already reduced me to lower than the hired help. At least if I was  _ actually  _ her maid, I’d get fucking paid, and if I was actually her sub, I’d get... _ anything _...out of this. _

"Proceed," she said, standing above him, staring. 

Her threats were meaningless unless there was a commensurate reward for good behavior.

Suppressing a sigh, Dean bore down on the sponge, scrubbing, scrubbing, making no headway.

But there never was a reward.

Rowena didn’t know  _ how  _ to reward him, hadn’t a  _ clue _ what he wanted, and had never bothered to ask.

_ And I never bothered to tell her. _

"I taught you better than this. If one method doesn't work to get my floor good and clean, try another." She licked her lips suggestively.

_ Because Rowena can't give me what I need. _

Dean knew exactly what she was suggesting, and hell if he'd do it short of her ordering him too. Eyes narrowing with anger as he focused on the floor, he pushed the sponge down harder. Grayish suds oozed out, but the stain persisted. 

_ Not like Cas did. _

"Wrong," she chided, steel barely covered with thin silk. "Clean it."

_ All she can do is make me feel like shit. _

Rowena dropped to her knees, wrapped a powerful hand around his neck, and slammed his face against the floor. Pain burst through his nose, his jaw, the faint smell of lemon a nauseating counterpoint to the heat twisting his mind.

_ Just like Cas ultimately did. _

"Clean. It. Up." 

_ If I had anywhere else to go... _

Glaring, not caring if she saw, what she thought, Dean scrubbed the same spot once again with the sponge.

_...if only Cas would stop looking at me like he hates my fucking guts... _

"I  _ know  _ you understand me,” she snarled, composure finally cracking. A sick twist of satisfaction settled Dean’s stomach. At least he’d managed to get a reaction out of her, even if that reaction was fury. “Lick it, moppet."

_...if only I hadn’t drunk, hadn’t said... _

The order had been given. Dean  _ had  _ to obey. Disgusted - with the taste of soap and lemon and old sauce, with her, with himself - he obeyed. The floor was foul, and she didn't make the least sound to acknowledge his obedience, his disobedience, his anger, his humiliation.

_ If wishes were horses, Rowena would take me for a ride. _

She just walked away.

_ But she doesn't, and I stay anyway. _

The sound of her heels clacking on the tiles marked her return. As Dean licked, and licked, and licked at the floor, she put her stiletto against his neck and pressed down. Agony lanced through him with every movement, every breath, every lap at the tiles.

_ Because this is exactly what I deserve. _

"Better, moppet. Use that mouth like I've taught you. Don't leave a single drop."

_ This is all I'm good for. _

"I'll be inspecting it - minutely - in the morning. And I expect you waiting for me, first thing, when I wake up. Do you understand?"

_ And this is all I'll get. _

Dean nodded.

_ But… _

"I said, do you understand?"

_...God I miss Cas... _

"Yes, mistress," he garbled against the floor tiles, still licking the same repulsive stop.

"Oh, moppet, whatever am I going to do with you?"

_ Whatever you want, bitch. Because I let you. Because after what I said to Cas that night, after what I did, after how I made him feel...for that crime I deserve every punishment you can mete out a hundred times over. _

"First thing in the morning!" She emphasized the admonishment with one last twist of her heel, and then she was gone.

And Dean licked.

He had a lot of floor to cover before he'd finally get to go to bed, alone, in the dog bed she'd decided was all he deserved after he failed to tongue her to climax fast enough a week ago.

_ Okay...but seriously...what the fuck am I doing here? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its tagged, but just in case, WARNING THIS CHAPTER FEATURES TRULY TERRIBLE BDSM ETIQUETTE. WHAT CAS DOES IS NOT OKAY.

Bent naked over the arm of Castiel's couch, Alfie was a sight. Thin, pale, bony, he looked even younger than he had at the club. Of age, certainly, but young - too young.

_ What was I thinking, bringing a twink home? _

Biting his lip, Castiel examined the ass he planned to spank. The skin was white, lined and dented from the waistband of his jeans and the elastic of his underwear. His hole clenched and fluttered at nothing. His erection brushed at the fabric of Castiel's couch, his balls dangling wrinkly amid a thicket of dirty blonde hair.

_ Not even a little bit my type, but here we are... _

"20 strikes. Agreed?"

_...and I need this. _

"Yes, sir." A quaver betrayed Alfie's nervousness.  _ Has he ever even done this before? Maybe I shouldn't-- _ "Please, sir."

_ Very well then. _

Drawing back, hand flat, fingers extended, Castiel tested the distance between them, brushing over soft skin, stepping away again. Alfie shivered, tense -  _ too tense for this to be safe _ \- but Castiel repressed his doubts, quelled his concerns, emptied his mind--

_ Fair or not,  _ I  _ need this. _

\--tried to empty his mind...and swung his arm full strength. A resounding crack filled the room; Alfie gasped, arched up, nearly slid from his perch. Red sprang up hot on the white skin, the shape of Castiel's hand mapped across both ass cheeks.

_ Pathetic. _

"One."

_ That's his reaction to a single strike? _

Corded muscles prepared to give strength to the next blow.

_ Of age or not, Alfie is a child. _

Castiel swung. The blow landed, Alfie cried out, and Castiel growled his anger.

_ It was absurd to think he could give me what I need. _

"Two - and if you react like that again, it will be thirty blows."

_ New or experienced, whatever he agreed to do with me tonight, whatever he thought he was getting into - he's not ready for this. _

"Three."

_ So why am I continuing? _

"Four."

_ Because I'm lonely. _

"Five."

_ Because I'm angry. _

"Six."

_ Because I deserve the guilt, the uncertainty, the frustration, that watching this boy blubber gives me. _

"Seven."

_ He's no Dean. _

"Eight."

_ Why would she bring Dean there? Why would she draw my attention? Why would she taunt me with his submission to her? _

"Nine."

_ Why would I care? _

"Ten."

_ Dean made it clear two years ago how little he valued my sincerity, my desire, my genuine interest. _

"Eleven."

_ He doesn't deserve how much I still miss him, how desperately I want him beneath me again, how often I think of him. _

"Twelve."

_ He doesn't deserve how emotional, how furious I am, that I saw him earlier, that he seemed happy subbing for another, that-- _

"Thir--"

"Sir!" Alfie's shriek froze Castiel, hand halfway to ass. Breathing hard, eyes out of focus, forehead beaded with sweat from the effort of how hard he'd struck, Castiel forced himself from his abstraction to see...

...Alfie's ass red tending toward purple, bruises already blossoming...

...Alfie's muscles knotted with tension and pain...

...Alfie's face, and the couch beneath, soaked with spit and tears and snot...

...Alfie's thighs, and the armrest, wet with...

_ Did he come? From this? A kid like him? I don't think... _

...not come. Piss.

_ What. The actual hell. Am I doing? _

"Get out."

_ I should never have brought him home. _

Stunned, dazed, crying uncontrollably, Alfie twisted to look up at Castiel. "Wha...huh?"

"I'll get you a towel, and some lotion, and your clothing. And you'll get the hell out of my home."

_ I used to be proud of my abilities as a dom. _

"Was I...was I bad?" asked Alfie, hiccuping, using his forearm to scrub his face. 

_ Forget what Dean does or deserve. _

"I'll do better, sir."

_ Alfie deserves a dom who cares about his well being, respects his submission, and pays attention to his needs. _

"I'm so sorry."

_ Not a pathetic, heartsore asshole like me, still hung up on the sub that got away. _

"I'll--"

_ No. Dean didn't get away. He's the sub who, like Alfie now, I told to-- _

"Get. The fuck. Out."

And, as Dean had years ago, Alfie obeyed, scrambling while whimpering, limping as he walked, tottering as he hopped hurriedly into his clothes, asking frantic confused questions that Castiel could only glare stern, furious answers to. 

"Out!"

And then Cas was, mercifully, blissfully, horribly alone.

_ What would have happened that day, if I'd let Dean stay long enough to explain himself? _

The house was so quiet, so empty, so soulless.

_ I'll never know. _

Just like Castiel.

_ And given how I behaved just now...what right have I to know? _

Castiel deserved no better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally thought this would be around 10 chapters and around 20k but I'm just a few words shy of 20k words in my first draft and have a bunch to go so...maybe not so much. Also it's already 10 chapters, so it'll definitely be...more than 10 chapters. I'm gonna review that right now...
> 
> I'm gonna optimistically predict 14 chapters and 30k. But. I suck at estimating and I really want to write these two morons having lots of kinky sex so.

Cold air struck Dean's bared skin as Rowena took the cloak from his shoulders. That she'd allowed him the modesty of the thick wool while they walked to the club was, he supposed, the smallest of blessings, but he couldn't find it in himself to appreciate the gesture. After all, she'd still made him walk, in public, in a leash and collar, as she had last week, but this time she paraded him down the street with the additional humiliation of a bit gag and a blindfold.

Yeah, he'd sassed her.

She shouldn't have doubted his willingness to go down on her!

If this was her way of trying to get him not to sass her again, it was guaranteed to backfire. Thank fricken God for the blindfold, it hid his glare and concealed how he seethed at his treatment. Bonus, it meant even if they'd passed someone who knew him who wasn't in the life, they wouldn't have recognized him.

"Moppet, I have people to speak with. Sit, and stay."

A chair slammed into the back of his knees and he collapsed into it, hands landing on the table. The soft clink and a change in the tension at his neck marked her setting his lead down, but Rowena didn't even grant him the boon of the slightest touch. 

_ What the fuck are we doing here? Again? _

Sound and touch were Dean's only guides to what went on around him. It was late, the club jumping, noisy and bustling around him. The wood was rough and sticky beneath his hands. The bit suffused his tongue with the tang of metal. The air conditioning blasted overtime, causing goosebumps to spring up along his bared arms and legs. She'd dressed him after blindfolding him, so he had only vague guesses what he wore. She'd put harness of some kind around his chest, not tight enough to qualify as bondage, settling over his pecs and abs in a way that he suspected made him resemble fricken Conan the Barbarian. Whatever covered his crotch was lacy, tight, and kept snagging on the clasp of the cock cage. Panties, probably Rowena's, judging by how they bit into thighs.

Nothing he'd ever want to wear in public.

At least sitting largely concealed what he wore.

Something something small blessings.

Fucking Rowena.

How he was dressed, how he was left, the clear signal of his leash spread on the table, marked him as claimed, and no one approached him. A few times, he thought he heard steps scuffing over the floor, close enough to be audible over the music, but they always stopped short, veered away, ignored him. The bit was heavy between his teeth, a meager distraction from the agonizing boredom of sitting there, clueless, useless, ignored, forgotten.

_ No - being forgotten would be better. I could find another damn dom. _

_ Right, cause that'll fix all my problems. Every dom I've been with since Cas has been worse than the last. _

_...since Cas... _

Dean had no right to complain. He'd been damn fricken lucky, had found someone who gave him exactly what he needed, and then he'd fucked it all up. From the minute he’d met Castiel - here in the club, by the bar, Meg serving out beers on tap and mixed drinks in equal measure - it had been full on chick flick, if the chick flick was 50 Shades of Gray without the bullshit. Choirs of angels, jolt of lightning, everything in the world narrowing down to the two brilliant blue points of Castiel's eyes and the firmness in his voice when he told Dean, "You're coming home with me, and if you behave, I'll give you everything you need. And no more drinking."

Fuck, Dean would kill for a drink right now.

_ No. No more alcohol. Never again. If I've learned nothing else, I've at least learned that. _

_ But at least if I was drinking, I'd have something, anything, to distract myself. _

_ And I’d make a mess of myself, because drinking around a bit gag? Yeah. No. _

People moved and shifted around him, talked and danced, ate and drank, hooked up and broke up. Dean felt invisible, meaningless, a sub left to stew in a club full of people that knew to never, ever interfere in whatever his dom was playing at.

_ I wonder if Cas is here again tonight. _

Dean fricken wished he knew what Rowena was playing at.

_ Or is he now back home with that guy he picked up last week, teasing the poor bastard into oblivion in return for promises of divine fricken rapture? _

At least Cas always delivered on those promises...unlike some people...

Fuck, but he was tired. Theoretically, he could end his relationship with Rowena, stop being her sub, maybe even stop being a sub completely, and then...what, exactly? Who would he be with? Where would he go? His apartment was empty, lonely, boring. Without someone to enforce their will on him, sex was vapid, meaningless. Without a dom, if he wasn't a sub, he was just...Dean.

If being Dean was worth a damn, he wouldn't be engaged in submissive escapism.

_ I'm not engaged in submissive escapism anyway. If Cas ditched me at a club like this? I'd be on tenterhooks, wondering what he had planned, wondering what was in store for me, knowing,  _ knowing,  _ that if I was good, he'd take me home after, take care of me, speak sweetly, ride me, send me off to bed still hard but oh-so-satisfied in every way that mattered. I'd be in scene, I'd be a sub. But with Rowena, I'm just...Dean. Sitting. Stewing. In a blindfold and a harness and a bit gag and panties in public. _

_ Fuck my life. _

_ I could...I could get up. I could leave. There's nothing to actually stop me. Yeah, I'd have to walk back to my place, which is a haul, and I'd be wearing...this. But my hands aren't bound, and there's no lock on this collar. I could end this at any time, simply by...opting out. _

_ Yeah, sure I could, and then never show my face at Club H again. _

_ Would that be so bad? What good has ever fricken come into my life from coming here? _

_...well, I did meet Cas here...that was a pretty damn spectacular six months... _

"Dean."

_...until it wasn't. _

Castiel sounded...harsh, angry, cruel. Pitiless. 

_ And why should he pity me? What happened that I didn't bring on myself? He asked me a simple question, and I went off the damn deep end. _

"Are you alright?"

If Dean could have scowled, he would have. Between the blindfold and the gag, he couldn't possibly answer.

_ That's not true. I could tap on the table. I could nod or shake my head. I could...I could... _

"This scene...the scene I saw last week...they don't seem like..." Tightness, discomfort, inexplicable hesitation, dragged out whatever the hell Cas was trying to say.

_...and why the hell should I communicate with him? He didn't listen that last night - did he ever listen at all? Rowena sure doesn’t - so why should Castiel listen now? _

"Of course. Who am I to say what is or isn't like...you." Now Castiel sounded angry again, and Dean's shoulders tensed. He was intimately, gloriously familiar with what Cas was capable of when he was in a rage. No blow came, though, nor did a reprimand, a jerk on the leash, not even a disappointed scolding. Cas took an overloud breath, so close, so agonizingly far away, and then sighed. "My apologies. I shouldn't have interfered in your scene. If you've been ordered to silence..."

_ I'm fucking gagged, Castiel.  _ Sir _. What the actual fuck? _

"I'm going to...you know..."

_ Wait. Wait wait wait. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds...embarrassed. Vulnerable. What the fuck is going on? _

"I'm going now."

_ Maybe you...maybe you don't have to. I could... _

Dean twitched to lift his hand, to signal that Cas should stay - he had a finger up, fuck, he was really going to do this, he was really going to answer, and listen, and maybe, maybe--

"Yes, Castiel. Leave." Rowena's melodious confidence was a chilling counterpoint to Castiel's unexpected nervous fumbling. Dean froze so abruptly that the muscles in his hand locked up and ached. "I left clear signs that my moppet was not to be disturbed until my return, yet here you are."

_...I'm not her fucking _ moppet.

"My apologies, I--"

_...except I am. I'm not going home with Cas - not today, not ever again. _

"Meg asked to speak with you," Rowena interrupted Castiel’s stammering.

Castiel.  _ Stammering _ .

_ I'm going home with Rowena, and I should at least pretend to be good. _

"I've heard some rumors tonight about your behavior, Castiel. If I may offer some...friendly...advice?"

Dean forced himself to an appearance of complaisance. What they discussed was nothing to him. What happened in the club was nothing to him. What Rowena wanted here, what Rowena wanted from him, all was insignificant.

"You may no--"

He was a sub - he was  _ her _ sub - and she could do whatever she wanted, whatever he'd agreed to. 

"Talk to Ms. Masters. Listen to what she says. Go home and consider your terribly poor life choices."

As unfulfilling as he found his submission to Rowena, she'd never violated his boundaries, never done anything to him that he hadn't been on board with.

"Thank you for passing on Ms. Master's request." All emotion was gone from Cas' voice. He only ever sounded so flat when he was profoundly upset.

_ Then again, neither did Cas. Not even when he asked... _

That night was the last time Dean had heard Cas sound so deceptively neutral.

"Good evening, Ms. MacLeod - Dean."

_...the fuck, Cas. There is literally nothing good about this evening. _

Footsteps suggested Cas walking off, and a tug on his leash told him to stand, told him Rowena was ready for him. 

Another mortifying walk to her apartment. 

Another mortifying night on his knees cleaning. 

_ Cas always had much better uses for me when I was on my knees. Fuck, do I miss the feel of his cock in my mouth, slapping my cheek, sliding between my legs.  _

Slump shouldered, Dean rose, tried to roll his tension from his shoulders, couldn't because of the harness, and dug his teeth into his bit. 

_ I miss the feel of his come clumped on my face, oozing over my belly, coating my mouth. _

At least the bit was solid, something constant, something comprehensible that he could latch on to.

_ I miss easing into his body, letting him ride me to oblivion. _

"It's time to go home, moppet."

_ I miss the desperate catch in his voice whenever he finally gave me permission to come. _

The cloak didn't return to his shoulders.

_ I miss his respect, his understanding, his care, his l-- _

_ No. Not that. I spurned that. _

"I am seriously displeased with your performance this evening."

_ I miss- _

_ Wait. Huh? What did I do wrong? _

"Now - heel."

_ This is such utter bullshit, Rowena. I didn't...I haven't...what the actual fuck?? _

She tugged him into position and, trusting her guidance -  _ why should I? Why should I trust anything about the bitch? She could parade me right off the edge of a cliff; she’d laugh while I plummeted _ \- Dean paced to her side, a step behind.

_ Is this ‘cause Cas spoke to me? _

The reasons didn't matter.

_ But I didn't even respond! _

Rowena was his domme.

_...but I was about to... _

Dean was her sub.

_...even though I knew, without her having to say a word, that her expectation was that I sit and wait in patient complaisance. _

And so he obeyed. Even to the edge of a cliff.

_ Remind me again...what the fuck am I doing here??? _

Dean deserved to fall of that cliff.

_ I miss Castiel. _

_ And I have no one to blame for that but myself. _


	5. Chapter 5

Dean looked...miserable.

Making his way to the bar was a time consuming prospect. Club H was a fair-sized venue, and it was mobbed on a Friday night. Castiel wore the black band again, and for a bonus had been spared Becky's officious interference in his life; she'd squeaked when she'd seen him and bolted into the dark murk of the interior. A few subs had sounded him out, but Castiel had rebuffed them. Even before he saw Dean was there again, he was on edge, angry.

_ Why is Dean with Rowena? How can he possibly be getting what he needs, what he wants, from her? _

Dangerous.

_ Like I have a right to judge. I thought I could give him what he needed, and he threw it in my face. _

Feeling as he did, Castiel had no right to even consider taking a sub home. 

_ That didn't stop me last week.  _

He should take the wristband off.

_ But it should have. _

"Oh, it's you." The tightness of Meg's voice set Castiel on edge. Usually she was playful, teasing, flirty, joking he was an angel, calling him Clarence based on some movie, the name of which he'd never caught, that she was always mocking him for never having seen. There wasn't a hint of jocularity about her now. Her expression was stern, eyes narrow, hands busy drying glass after glass even as she pinned him with a look. A shiver tingled down Castiel's spine, and silence stretched out between them.

"...Ms. MacLeod informed me that you wished to speak with me?" he offered hesitantly.

"Do I," she scoffed. "Are you seriously suggesting you have no idea why you're standing here?"

Castiel shook his head. It was a flagrant lie - he had a pretty damn good idea why she'd wish to address him, especially in light of Rowena's hints about his recent activities - but he couldn't bring himself to confess what he knew to be true.

_ How I treated Alfie was beyond unacceptable. How I took him home, how I treated him there, how I sent him away, would and should get me blacklisted from every respectable club in the city. _

"Listen, Clarence." She slammed a glass beer stein down on the bar top, set her palms beside it, and leaned in toward him as if seeking a semblance of privacy in the bustling club. Another bartender squeezed past her, carefully bearing two drinks to two already-sloshed patrons sitting nearby. "Speak now, or you will be  _ made _ to forever hold your peace, because you won't be setting foot in my club again. Capiche?"

_ Would that be so bad? _

_ Heck...it'd probably be an improvement. Hell knows, coming here has never done me a lick of good. _

_ No. That's not fair. Those six months with Dean...they were the best times I've ever had. If this heartbreak is the cost of that, I'd pay it again, again and again and again, rather than lose that opportunity. _

_ But it is for  _ me _ to pay that price in pain, and no one else. _

"Is Alfie alright?" he ground out. At least the words came, even if he sounded like he was on the verge of murder to make himself say them.

"No thanks to you," she snapped. Reaching beneath the bar, she pulled out a cutting board, a chef's knife, and a bowl of lemons. "You made a liar out of me, you stupid son of a bitch." She took a lemon, held it deftly, and sliced it in half with a single confident downward pull on the blade. "When he came in here, I told him who the good doms were." Took a lemon, held it, sliced it in half. "I told him who would take care of him." Lemon, slice. "I told him - you were one of the good ones." Lemon, slice. Frigid glare. "And then he came back here in fucking  _ pieces _ ." Without looking at what she did, she took another lemon, held it, sliced it perfectly. "What." Slice. "The actual fuck." Slice. "Happened."

"Trust me - as bad as it was that I made him leave, it would have been worse if I'd allowed him to stay," Castiel sighed, sliding onto a bar stool. Whatever reprobration she heaped on him was a fraction of what he'd deserved. He's lucky she didn't instruct Becky to deny him entry.

_ Like Becky could have stopped me. A bouncer she is not. _

_...but if she'd told me to go, I would have. _

"As egregious as my error was in sending him away, injured as he was, that was not my mistake. My true mistake was inviting him over in the first place. I was...imbalanced."

"Because Dean was here?" Her hands never stopped moving. The lemons were all halved, and she'd moved on to quartering them, each lemon wedge identical though her eyes remained fixed on Castiel's.

"How does everyone know about us?"

"Wow."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow at her.

"No, it's just - I thought you mistreating Alfie was the stupidest shit you'd ever done, and then you go and ask me that. Have you seen you? Have you seen him? If this is your idea of pining in secret, woo-ee, have I got news for you."

"Look, Meg, get to the point - what do you want?" There was the anger again. Once upon a time, he'd thought himself calm, contained, under control - prided himself in it, because self-possession was an essential trait for a dom and Castiel wanted to be the  _ essential _ dom. He'd had it down to an art, down to a science, and if he didn't always get what he wanted from a scene, well, he derived a vast amount of satisfaction from knowing that his subs got what they needed from him.

"I cleaned up your mess last week," she said grimly, her chef's knife thumping against the counter as she cut, cut, cut. 

And then he'd met Dean, and learned that he could do both.

"I found him a good dom, a  _ real _ dom, to take care of him."

And then he'd lost Dean, and realized how truly wrong he'd been.

"So, all's well that something something."

And in the years since then...

"But Clarence."

...he'd never once gotten what he wanted, what he truly needed, from a scene.

Castiel wasn't sure which would stab him deeper - the knife she leveled at his chest, or the frigid icicle glare with which she impaled him.

"If you ever do anything like that ever again, I will see you blacklisted from every club in the city."

And he'd never, not before Dean, certainly not while he was with Dean, and not even in the worst of the days after, done to  _ anyone _ what he did to Alfie.

"You'll never dom again, if I have anything to say about it. And you know how much sway I have in this scene - I have a metric  _ fuckton _ to say about it."

Anger bubbled beneath his skin, anger at her threats, anger at Rowena, anger at Dean, anger at Alfie...

...anger at himself...

...and he exhaled an explosive sigh.

"You're right," he mumbled.

"Louder, asshole."

"You're right," he repeated. "Of course, you're right. I saw Dean, with Rowena, and saw how unhappy he was, and I just...I lost it. That's not an excuse. There is no excuse, none to speak of. But it is a reason. I was furious, and I saw someone to take it out on, and I acted without thinking. It was stupid, inconsiderate, dangerous, and if it happens again, I  _ shouldn't _ ever dom again." He swallowed, closed his eyes, opened them again to find her still staring him down, but her knife was back at work, reducing the quartered lemons to eighth slices suitable for the lip of a glass. "Honestly, I'm not sure I should ever dom again  _ anyway _ . It's just..." He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Don't you?" she said, secret meaning layered in her words.

Castiel had no fricken idea what the secret meaning was.

"Look, you're not a bad guy, Clarence, but seriously? I've never seen a dom hung up on a sub like you are on Dean." With a shake of her head that brushed her shoulders with locks of hair and finally freed Castiel from her glare, she smiled coldly and showed him her canines. "But he's not the only fishy in the great big sea."

"There is nothing piscine about Dean..."

"Come back next week," Meg commanded, emphasizing the injunction with another hard slice. "I know a guy - I think he could be a good sub for you."

"After all that posturing...you're setting me up on a blind date?" Baffled, he tried to catch her eye, but she was intent on her work, brow knit with focus, as if she hadn't just blindly cut her damn body weight in lemons.

"Or don't," she shrugged. "It's up to you."

_ Why should I even bother with someone new? They still won't be Dean. I'll still be angry, still be frustrated, still won't get what I need. _

"He's experienced, intelligent, knowledgeable...and, well, if Dean is your type? I guarantee Balthazar will be also."

_ So, what, because I got dumped once, I'm never going to try again? What am I, an emo teenager? _

"Very well," he said with more determination than he felt. "I'll be here next week."

"Good boy, Clarence."

Half smiling, half scowling, Castiel shot her a look, but she met it with a grin. She knew exactly what game she was playing when she said shit like that to him. "And Meg...thank you."

"Yeah, whatever." She rolled her eyes and dumped the cut lemons back into the bowl. "Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

Conceding, he nodded, rose, and headed for the door.

At least, over the years, he'd earned enough goodwill to be forgiven one transgression.

But that didn't explain why he was bothering to see this Balthazar that Meg mentioned. There was no way the man would be like Dean.

_ But, now that Dean is with Rowena, Dean isn't Dean either. Maybe he was never the sub I thought he was, and it was all a delusion. _

_ A really, truly, profoundly amazing delusion. _

_ But...if being with Balthazar can allow me to forget Dean for even an hour... _

_ Worth it. _

_...never, ever, ever worth it. _

Heaving a sigh, Castiel dropped his wrist band in the basket by the door and stepped out into the mild evening.

_ Is even Dean worth this much heartache? Truly? _

_ Yes, he is. Dean is worth everything. _

_ Son of a bitch. _

Castiel wasn't even sure which of them he meant. He supposed it didn't matter.

_ What, really, matters besides how much this hurts? _

_ And that I feel that way? Is as big a warning sign as what happened with Alfie last week. I shouldn't do a scene when I'm this depressed. _

_...just...quit obsessing. One day at a time, and I can at least meet this Balthazar guy, and if Meg is right and we click? Fantastic. And if she's wrong, I'm wary of myself now, I can stop things before they get bad. _

_ I can do better than I did with Alfie. _

_ I must do better than I did with Alfie. _

_ Or I must concede my inadequacy, and leave the scene. _

No option felt good.

_ One option feels good. _

_ I just...I wish I had Dean back. _

_...and if wishes were horses, I wouldn't be walking home alone.  _

That always was Dean's favorite saying to twist into ridiculous new meanings.

_ God, I miss him. _

_ And it doesn't matter at all. _

_...what I want, what I need, never mattered to anyone, not even to Dean, no matter that I once thought he cared. _

_ I don't matter at all. _


	6. Chapter 6

"Be a good boy while I'm gone, moppet." Rowena paused in the doorway to blow Dean a kiss, a hardness in her eyes promising consequences if he didn't behave.

_ I'm so far past caring about what consequences she might exact from me. _

With a final, taunting wave, she closed the door.

_ I'm so far past... _

The lock click-clicked and the bolt sliding into place.

_...wait, that's it? She's just...gone? _

Dean blinked around the immaculate apartment.

_ What. the. fuck. _

Weekdays, Dean was a free man, going to work at the mechanic shop, socializing with his friends, being the awesome uncle to Sam’s kids. Day-to-day, the only evidence of his submission the omni-present cock cage, private and just for him and Rowena. Evenings, he reported to Rowena, and weekends, he was  _ owned _ . As frustrating his being her sub often was, she  _ always _ used him, even when that use was carrying groceries or spending hours as an ottoman. “Waste not, want not” was a critical component of Rowena’s regality, a frugality of money, effort, and attention that insured that when she could  _ always  _ afford what she wanted.

She never just...left.

She hadn't even given him orders, hadn’t left him instructions to shampoo the carpet or risk his damn neck to clean the outside of her windows. She hadn’t instructed him to lie on his bed to await her return with baited breath and God have mercy on him if he moved an inch from where she left him, because she’d have none.

Rowena was gone, and it made no fucking sense.

_ Maybe it's a trick - maybe there's a catch. She must have a plan. _

_ Rowena  _ always  _ has a plan. _

Biting at his lip in bafflement, Dean rose and explored the apartment. There must be a note, a clue, something. Maybe she'd left an outfit for him on her bed? No, it was still as neatly made as he'd left it that morning. Maybe she'd put a toy for him in the bathroom? No, the bathtub sparkled, the sink gleamed, the room so immaculate that it might have been unused if not for the toothbrushes to suggest habitation. Maybe in the kitchen - but nothing - or in the closet - only their coats - or...in the fridge? The cabinets? Inside the damn washing machine? Something - anything -  _ anywhere _ ?

Dean ransacked the apartment for an indication of her expectations.

_ I could...I could guess? Get naked, lie on the bed with my mouth open, wait for her to sit on my face? _

There was  _ nothing _ .

_ I could...clean? If she comes back and finds a single speck of dust she'll blow her lid, and it’s a damn good thing I’ve been putting everything back right and proper as I search because if I leave one damn book a quarter inch left of where she shelved it, she’ll tan my ass. _

As he looked, confusion edged into anger. Knowing Rowena, he was just supposed to  _ know _ . How many times had he been punished for infractions that boiled down to ‘bad Dean, you didn't read my mind?’ How many times had he been punished for no reason at all? He'd lost count.

_ I could... _

Maybe there was a camera set up. He wouldn't put it past her to make a game of his uncertainty. He could imagine her sitting with her domme friends, laughing with melodious delight at his scrambling.

_ I could… _

Dean looked around.

_...I could...um... _

There was nothing for him here.

_ I could go home? _

There was nothing for him at his apartment, either.

_ All this because I wouldn't move in with Cas, and yet here I am, basically living with Rowena. _

_ I could... _

_...I was basically living with Cas, too, and yet... _

_ Stop thinking about it. Rowena isn't here. Rowena doesn't give a flying fuck what I do. I could do literally anything. _

A frisson of fear, of exhilaration, tingled to the tips of Deans fingers. Looking over his shoulder -  _ this is the moment where Candid Camera pops into view and yells "gotcha," right? _ \- Dean walked to the door...

...undid the locks...

...pulled it open...

...stepped into the hall...

...closed it behind him...

...and absolutely  _ nothing _ happened.

Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, Dean dug his set of keys from his pocket, locked up, and headed out of the building.

The night was pleasantly cool after the heat of the day, spring warming toward the sultry steaminess of summer in the city. People crowded the sidewalks, people walking alone with their heads down, couples laughing and gabbing and flirting, groups in a line from storefront to curb as they meandered and socialized. Dean had no idea what to do with himself. It had been so long since he'd made a choice for himself he'd nearly forgotten how, so long since he’d had any desire beyond  _ be what Rowena wants _ that it was hard to yearn. His thoughts raced, imagining how Rowena would punish him, considering his options, wishing for a text to tell him something, anything, to do with himself.

_ God, she's got me whipped. _

_ When I was with Cas, we… _

_ Hey. Deep thought, self? Can we do literally fucking  _ anything _ other than think about Castiel? He's not my dom. Rowena is.  _

_ Except right now, I'm not even sure of that. _

_ What the hell am I doing here? _

Dean let the crowds drag him in their wake. He covered block upon block, crossed streets, drifted east and west down the avenues, with no destination in mind. Restaurants, stores, theaters, clubs, bars, shone like beacons at dusk, neon flashing, pleasant smells wafting out.

_...I could try to see Cas... _

_...or I could go into that bar right there and chug a one way 100 proof ticket to oblivion... _

_...yeah, cause that's always ended so well for me. _

Heaving a sigh, Dean stopped on a street corner to get his bearings.

Club H was kitty-corner to where he stood.

_...but seriously, I could try to see Cas. What if he's at the club? What if, like last week, he wanted to talk with me, wanted to know if I was alright? _

The light changed and, unthinking, moving on instinct, Dean walked.

_ What if he cared? _

_ What if I cared that he cared? _

_ Is it possible that he might forgive me? _

Every step was eager.

_ There's no Rowena to call me to task today. _

Every step was reluctant.

_ Cas went out of his way to approach me last week, expressed concern, seemed so unlike himself. _

Every step was rigid, tense, awkward, as though his legs had ceased to work right.

_ It might have meant nothing - for old time's sake, or something. _

The crowd that lingered around the entrance to Club H was distinctly different than the regular melange of people on the city streets.

_ It might have meant everything...as he still means everything to me... _

Heart thudding unpleasantly loud in his ears, Dean pushed the door open, ignored the bowls of wristbands, ignored Becky, ignored everyone.

_ There's only one way to find out. _

Scanning the crowd, his eyes sought, sought, sought...and there he was.

_ Time to put on my big boy breeches and use my fuckin' words. _

Castiel moved among the crowd of Club H deliberately, strong and tall and confident. He took Dean's breath away, left him dizzy, desperate with desire. Steeling himself, Dean forced his legs to function. He walked across the room. He raised an arm in greeting...

...and he froze.

Pulling out a chair from a small two-top, Castiel took a seat opposite a man, a sub Dean had seen around once or twice, with short hair, pronounced features, and a sly smile. The two shook hands, drawing Dean's eye to their wrist bands.

Cas, black band, a dom looking for a one night stand.

The sub, turquoise band, a sub looking for a one night stand.

_ What the hell was I thinking? _

_ Why would I come looking for Cas? Why would I come looking for Cas here ? There’s no reason Cas would come here unless he was looking for a hookup. He’s not looking for me, was never looking for me, because he was never going to hookup with me. We're done. If anything, he approached me last week out of pity, and I was stupid enough to think it meant anything, to dwell on it and wonder what if, if, if. _

_ It meant nothing to Cas. _

I  _ meant nothing to Cas. _

_ No...no, I know that's not true. I meant so much to Cas that he asked me to live with him, and because I couldn't use my words then...and now it's too late, two years too late, and I'm the idiot still hung up on what might have been. _

_ Cas has moved on, as he should have moved. _

Dean's hand dropped to his side.

_ As I should have moved on. _

His eyes dropped to the floor.

The sound of Castiel's laughter rumbled through the bar, ripped a goddamn hole in Dean's aching chest.

_ How could I be so stupid? _

"Hey, sexy, lookin' for a good time?" A man sidled up to Dean, leering, holding up his hand to show off his wrist band, orange, a dom looking for a whipping boy.

Fury whited out Dean's vision of the room. With a snarl, he rounded on a heel, swinging an elbow at the douche bag crowding him. The man jumped back with a squawk and Dean stalked across the dance floor.

_ Useless, moronic, clueless, delusional... _

"Don't have to be a jerk about it," muttered the man behind him.

_...desperate, pathetic, lonely... _

Ripping the door open, he strode out into the night.

_...silly, vapid... _

His steps were deliberate, certain; he knew where has was going, what he was doing, for the first time in...months? Years?

...for the first time since Cas had said, "Dean, do you want to move in?" and Dean had left without answering, gone to the nearest bar, and gotten himself three...more like six...sheets to the wind...

...he knew exactly where he was going.

Home.

Not the bar, not the club, not Rowena's apartment. First at a brisk walk, then at a jog, then at a dead run, Dean went  _ home _ . There, no one would look at him. No one would see him. No one would expect anything from him.

No one would give a shit that he was broken.

_ As if anyone gives a shit that I'm broken anyway. _

_ Cas gave a shit. _

_ And I threw it in his face, violated his orders, went back to his apartment smashed, and used everything I'd learned of him in six months together to destroy him. _

He took the steps to his walk up three at a time, sweat matting down his hair, dripping from his chin, sticking his shirt to his chest. His key stuck in the lock. Roaring wordless rage, wordless misery, he slammed a shoulder into his door while twisting the key, twisting the key, jiggling the door knob. He slammed into it again...and it gave way. His momentum carried him into the room, tumbled him hard to the floor as the door slammed behind him. He drew a desperate, vocal breath into his lungs...

...and released it as a sob.

_ Nothing has been right since that day. _

Another sob ripped from him, another, another, his throat clenching painfully, his cock cage digging into his thighs, his limbs so weak he couldn't be bothered to pick himself up from the floor.

_ And I have no one, absolutely  _ no one _ , to blame but myself. _

Dust coated his skin, transferred from a layer of gray over the floor, the coffee table, the couches, the furniture. 

_ But for all that...doesn't Cas know? _

Coughs and sobs combined, scouring his insides, burning his chest, tearing him apart inside and out.

_ Cas  _ must _ know, I'd come back in a heartbeat if he asked me to. _

Tears streamed from his eyes, dampened the floor beneath him, cry upon cry torn from him, relentless and unstoppable.

_ And instead, I stay with Rowena. _

_ She's going to be furious when she gets back and I'm not there. _

_ Good. Let her be furious. Let her punish me within an inch of my life. _

_ It doesn’t matter. _

_ We're done.  _

_ I'm done. _

Fumbling, he pulled out his phone, struggling through blurred vision to type a coherent break up message. He hit send with no clear idea what he'd written and hoped it was adequate.

_ Over a year on my knees for her and I end out arrangement with her by text message. Pathetic, rude, completely inappropriate... _

_ And that's still better than what I did to Cas. _

The thought was like a dunk in cold water, leaving him stunned, silent, shivering through aftershocks of grief. A cough spattered gunk from his throat onto the floor, cleared the rattle from his inhales. He hicced, exhaled a long sigh, and pushed himself up to sitting. 

_ My behavior toward Cas that day was reprehensible, and every day since I've run away metaphorically as surely as today I ran away literally. _

He scrubbed a sleeve over his face, wiping away the slime coating his cheeks, nose and chin.

_...and until I can face Rowena and tell her why I was unhappy, until I can face Cas and apologize, until I can face my own useless ass in the mirror and figure out why I couldn't look Cas in the eye and tell him, flat out, "I'm not ready to live together," nothing will change. _

_ So. Nothing will change. _

It was oddly comforting to realize that he was too useless to fix what he'd broken. Picking himself up, he stood, turned a slow circle around the room, looked at the wreck his neglect had made of his apartment, of his life.

Blinking grit from his eyes, Dean heaved a sigh.

_ At least this wreck, I can do something about. Fuck knows, I've had enough training. _

And he cleaned.

_ I hope that man that Castiel met at the club makes him happy. _

And cleaned.

_ Because fuck knows, I wasn't able to do that. _

And cleaned.

_ And he deserves... _

And cleaned.

_...deserves... _

And. Cleaned.

_...deserves... _

And finally collapsed on the couch and stared at the blank blackness of his powered down television.

_ Castiel deserves everything, all the best, everything I'm not. And I know he'll find someone to give it to him. _

Maybe Dean should watch something. Rowena loved The Real Housewives and crime shows. Dean hadn’t picked out something to watch in so long, he wasn’t even sure where to begin. Where new episodes of Dr. Sexy even in production? He could check, google it, but it seemed like so much effort.

_ And I deserve... _

Easier by far not to move.

_...exactly what I've got. _

There was no point in bothering.

_ Nothing. _

Even if he found a dom he really clicked with, he'd just blow it again.

_ Absolutely nothing. _

With a last, hollow sigh, Dean let exhaustion and malaise drift over him, around him, until he dozed to a restless sleep.

Until he became nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

A commotion drew Castiel's attention from his new acquaintance, gave him a moment to collect himself. Glancing around, he saw a burly man swearing, another fleeing -  _ is that Dean? _ \- and in the chaos Becky moved to confront the angry man, hands on her hips, all five-foot-four-of her bristling with fury.

_ Maybe she's useful as a bouncer after all. _

_ But there’s no call for her to react that way if someone were hassling Dean, he can stand up for himself, or Rowena can stand up for him, so. Dean was a figment of my imagination, whereas Balthazar is here, before me, waiting, and I have to say… _

_...something. Anything. Right? _

_ Or I could... _

Castiel set a hand on the table and half-rose to see how he could help Becky, when - "Fancy yourself a knight in shining armor, then?" Something about Balthazar's accent rendered him condescending no matter what he said, and when Castiel turned back to him, he was mildly surprised that Balthazar wasn't sneering.

"Not a knight," said Castiel stiffly.  _ And whatever is happening over there is none of my business. Dean can’t be involved I've seen hide nor hair of Rowena, and he goes nowhere without her. Because he’s hers, not mine. Never mine - never before, and never again.  _ Grimacing, he settled back into his chair and forced his focus back onto his partner-to-be. Balthazar smiled, confident, sure of himself. Castiel fished for something, anything, to say, but nothing came to mind.

_ Why did Meg thing we'd be good for each other? _

"What were we saying?" Balthazar prompted.

_ I suppose he's attractive, but in essentials, he's not... _

"Do I have to repeat myself?" snapped Castiel.

_...he's not Dean... _

"Of course not, sir." A twist made the honorific mocking. Castiel gritted his teeth, imagining how he could discipline Balthazar.

_ I'm not looking for another Dean. I'm looking for someone new, someone with whom I can scene enjoyably, no commitment, no strings attached. No asking them to move in with me. I know exactly how that ends.  _

_ Meg knows me well enough not to steer me wrong. I have to trust her. _

"Do you agree to the parameters for tonight's scene?" Castiel demanded.

_ Of course...trust...because trusting Meg, trusting Dean, trusting my subs, trusting myself, has served me so well in the past. _

"Your place," said Balthazar, lifting a hand and ticking off the points on his fingers. "No toys. Aftercare included. And I will not come. Did I miss anything?"

_ I don't want to scene with Balthazar. _

"Perhaps you do have some small potential," said Castiel. Balthazar wasn't the only one who could sneer theatrically, and Castiel raised a disdainful lip, stared down his nose at the sub...and got a soft chuckle in reply.

_ He certainly isn't acting like he wants to scene with me. _

"Back at you. Sir."

_ So what the hell are either of us doing here? _

"Very well..." Castiel fished for a diminutive. Boy? Toy? Pet? None struck him as appropriate to Balthazar; none sounded appealing as he tested them in the hollowing ache of his mind.  _ Nothing about this seems right. Yet here we both are. " _ Shall we go?"

"Yes, sir." It was the most sincere thing Balthazar had said since they'd met.

With an air of decisiveness belying the uncertainty roiling his thoughts, Castiel stood, pushed in his chair, and strode toward the exit, trusting Balthazar to fall in behind him. If Balthazar wouldn't even heel to Castiel's obvious expectations, there was truly no point in their leaving together. Balthazar could sit at the table smirking at Castiel's departing back until Kingdom Come for all Castiel cared. Not until they reached the exit did Balthazar make his obedience known, darting ahead and opening the door, waving Castiel through with a grandiose gesture and an "After you, sir."

"Reign in the attitude," Castiel suggested archly as he stepped outside. "Or I will reign it in for you."

"Is that a promise?" snarked Balthazar.

"Bratty subs don't--" Castiel cut himself off short of lying as he walked into the night, Balthazar following a step behind and to his right. Dean could be an  _ epic _ brat, and Castiel adored it. It wasn't Balthazar's sass that stirred Castiel's ire. Castiel's ire had been in high dudgeon for weeks, and if he couldn't reign himself in, he'd be more high and dry than he intended to leave Meg's friend. 

_ If I can’t hold my temper, I’ll never scene again, because Meg will see me blacklisted, but more because I  _ shouldn’t  _ be a dom if I can’t contain myself. As imbalanced as I am, I’m a danger to everyone, myself included.  _

"Balthazar."

"Yes, sir?"

"I do not appreciate the boundary testing you are engaging in - not at this time," Castiel grated out the confession. He didn't trust himself not to do to Balthazar what he'd done to Alfie. He didn't trust himself not to lose his temper, go too far, forget himself and lash out. All Castiel wanted was a simple, peaceful, successful scene, a reminder that even though he’d failed Dean, he’d failed Alfie, he'd failed other subs, he'd failed himself, he could still dom and still could enforce a scene that his sub would enjoy.

_ If I’m not a dom, who am I? Castiel Novak, CPA, corporate drudge, bored and boring. _

"I'll try to behave," Balthazar said flippantly.

_ No one. _

"Try harder," Castiel snapped.

_ I’m no one. _

The walk to Castiel's building passed in tense silence. Castiel hadn't bothered planning a scene, had nothing special prepared. With every step his brain screamed  _ what are you doing _ ? He didn't know why he was taking Balthazar home. He didn't know why he was domming now, domming at all. He didn't know why he was angry, why he was uncertain, why he was disquieted.

_ But what alternative do I have? _

Balthazar waited, head held high, every gaze a challenge, as Castiel unlocked the lobby door and strode to the elevator.

_ I could try talking to Dean. _

Tension built in Castiel's chest, twisting and tight, as they rode the elevator up, up, up, standing, staid, side by side.

_ I did try, last week. He ignored me, and then Rowena reprimanded me, and probably punished him. _

With a ping and the  _ whoosh _ of the door opening, they stepped out onto the 8th floor. 

_ This place's soul left, as my soul left, when Dean walked away. _

Castiel led the way to his small, immaculate, soulless apartment.

_...when I  _ made  _ Dean walk away. _

"Nice joint you've got here," Balthazar said, stepping in to the living room. Castiel closed the door,  _ click, click, clicking _ the locks shut. "What, afraid I'll flee from a big, bad dom like you unless you bolt me in?"

_ Last chance. If I can't make this work with Balthazar...I'm done. _

"Strip," Castiel ordered. Barely restrained anger put a quaver in his voice and a tremble in his hands.

_ I'm done hurting my subs, and I'm done hurting myself. _

Despite all his apparent resistance, Balthazar obeyed with alacrity. He tugged free his tie, pulled off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt. Castiel watched clinically, trying to force himself into the right frame of mind to play the dominant. He stood up straighter, rolled his shoulders back, clasped his hands behind his back. Maybe, if he could make himself feel more like a dom, he'd actually  _ want _ to dom. Inch by inch, Balthazar revealed his fair physique. He was older than Castiel - older than Dean - and showed that age in wirey toughness and a fine tracery of lines about his eyes and cheeks that gave him an air of distinguished handsomeness. His chest was toned without being cut, tanned, shaved smooth, his nipples tightening in the chill of Castiel’s apartment. 

Castiel was fairly sure he was supposed to want to touch that rugged expanse of skin.

Castiel didn't particularly want to touch Balthazar, on his chest or anywhere.

Repressing a sigh, Castiel paced around Balthazar, quiet, accessing, as Balthazar removed his pants.

"Your behavior thus far has been...highly dissatisfactory," Castiel explained. He could swear that Balthazar hefted a single shoulder in a slight shrug. "You need a reminder of your place."

"I look forward to it. Sir." Balthazar almost sounded like he meant it.

"On your knees beside the couch," ordered Castiel. They both needed time to settle into their roles, grow comfortable with each other, figure out a dynamic that would carry them through the evening.

_ Or else this won’t work. _

_ Oh, Cas, come on...don’t pretend. You can lie to everyone but yourself. _

_ There’s no way this is going to work. _

As dusk darkened into full night, Castiel put Balthazar through the dull-as-dirt paces of Submission 101. 

They sat and watched TV, Castiel's dick flaccid and warm within Balthazar's mouth. 

They shared a bowl of ice cream, Castiel occasionally feeding Balthazar morsels from his spoon. 

They cleaned up the mess of melted milk, Balthazar obeying - barely, and always just short of outright rebellion - Castiel's commands to lick the plate clean, scrub the dishes, wipe the counter tops.

It was, hands down, the most boring scene Castiel had ever executed.

His mind was utterly blank of how to enliven things.

_ Because I don't want to. Because Balthazar doesn't fire my imagination. Because this is a farce, the barest, most pathetic substitute for what -  _ who _ \- I actually want and I can never have.  _

_ God, if Dean were here now… _

Ideas crowded Castiel's mind, how he'd tease Dean, how he'd taunt him, how he'd punish him, how he'd use him. For the first time all evening, arousal simmered in Castiel's veins, thickened his cock.

_ While he washed the dishes I'd sidle up behind him, rub my erection on his ass, fondle him to erection, tease him to the edge of climax. _

_ While he warmed my cock, I'd rub his forehead, relax him, ease him, get him floating in euphoria, so ready and open for whatever the evening might hold. _

_ While he held the bowl I'd paint his chest with ice cream, lick up every drop, make him kiss his share from my mouth. _

_ While he-- _

"What next, sir?" asked Balthazar. Castiel's alluring imaginings shattered, leaving him with the prosaic reality that was his actual sub for the night.

_ If Dean were here, next would be my hands wrapping around his throat, teasing at his windpipe as I dragged him to the bedroom and rode him to oblivion, edged him over and over, sent him to bed hard because he always, always loved walking that knife's edge just short of orgasm, and I loved him desperate and eager and painfully hard. _

_ I loved... _

_ Oh, God, I... _

"Bedroom," Castiel snapped.

At least Balthazar obeyed, eyes lowered just barely enough to pass as respectful. Anger and desire roiled Castiel, colliding, dizzying him. This scene wasn't working, wasn't doing a Goddamn thing for Castiel except causing him to regret every decision that led him to this moment, but sex was de rigeur, and at least thinking of Dean got Castiel hot. He and Balthazar could fuck, Castiel could complete the barest minimum of aftercare demanded by this farce of dominance and submission, Balthazar could fuck right out of his house, and they could never meet again.

And after that, Castiel could leave the BDSM scene completely.

And pine himself into oblivion.

_ Excellent plan. So much to look forward to. _

"Lie down," Castiel snarled. Balthazar shot him a startled look and hesitated. Biting back a growl, Castiel spun on a heel and backhanded Balthazar on the cheek, sending him sprawling to the carpeted floor. "I have had it with your dilly-dallying."

"Dilly-dallying?" mimicked Balthazar, rubbing his jaw as he picked himself up.

"Whether we're together for a lifetime or only a few hours, you will obey me, or you will reap the consequences," Castiel said implacably, waiting until Balthazar stood and slapping him again. The first glimmers of respect finally narrowed Balthazar's eyes, and Castiel's cock thickened. "Now. Lie down."

The hop as Balthazar obeyed was...satisfying, a pleasant reminder of why Castiel had ever fancied himself a dom. The bed squeaked and shifted as Balthazar took up his position, chest rising and falling quickly, dick at half-mast, cheeks splotched red. 

"You have one minute to get yourself hard enough for me to ride, or I will grow even more displeased than I already am."

_ This happened with Dean once... _

The memory of Dean's submission, of his frantic self-stimulation, spurred Castiel's cock to full hardness as Balthazar took himself in hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and stroked, stroked, stroked. Sass aside, the man at least seemed to want to have sex, because he set about hardening himself with more determination and obedience than he'd done anything else Castiel asked. When the minute was up, he was ready, dick rubbing his belly, eyes open again and fixed on Castiel.

"Good, sir?" Balthazar asked, breathless.

"Adequate," said Castiel, breath quickening.

_ I don't even want him. Why am I doing this? What's the point? _

Repressing his doubts, he yanked the nightstand drawer open, retrieved a condom, tore it open and hastily rolled it down Balthazar's cock.

_ What's the point in not having sex? He's here, and I'm here, and we're both horny, so...we might as well have sex as not. _

"You are my toy," Castiel instructed, voice gravel and raspy, as he deliberately undid his belt, pulled down his pants. “You do not move unless I move you.” He removed his boxers, while leaving on his shirt and vest. “You do not touch me unless I tell you to.” He climbed onto the bed and straddled Balthazar's hips. "You do nothing save what I instruct you to do. And you do not come. Do you understand?"

"Well, when you put it that--"

Castiel smacked, open handed, over one of Balthazar's taut nipples. He gasped, bucking up from the bed, cock twitching. "I said,  _ do you understand _ ?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Better," Castiel ground out. He pulled a bottle of lube from the night stand, upended it over Balthazar's dick, smiled cruelly at Balthazar's pained gasp as cold lubricant dribbled down his length. Seizing Balthazar's dick roughly, holding it erect, Castiel shifted above him, positioning himself, rubbing the blunt head of Balthazar’s cock over his ass. He hadn't done this in a while -  _ don't want to, not with him, only with D-- Stop, brain! This is who I have, this is who I get to have, and I might as well enjoy it while I can, because after this. _ .. - but he was ready, as ready he ever would be, and he pushed down slowly, breaching himself with his new, one-time toy.

"Holy--"

"Silent," Castiel snapped. His eyes rolled back, pleasure finally muting his doubts. Whoever was with him, whoever was beneath him, a dick in him always felt good, even if the dick wasn't so large as...nor so wide as...nor quite as...he pivoted his hips down, down, taking Balthazar into him, silencing his craving for Dean with the depth of his concentration. 

"It's good, sir," whispered Balthazar reverently.

Castiel's eyes popped open and he glared at the sub, reached out, grabbed a nipple, and twisted. Balthazar bit his lip against a pained cry. "Do not force me to remind you to stay silent again."

The bastard actually opened his mouth, as if to speak, as if to complain, as if to cry out, but he snapped it shut as Castiel lifted from the knee, drew Balthazar out most of the way, and thrust back down hard. He did it again, again, and Balthazar for once obeyed, biting his lips against cries, letting Castiel ride him. It was a punishing pace, probably spectacular for a service top, but rough on Castiel's bottom. Each time Balthazar filled him, pain tinged the thrust, tore at his sensitive walls. It was no more - sure far less - than Castiel deserved, for being a poor dom, for being so angry, for thinking of and longing for and craving Dean while he had another man beneath him, inside him. Even in the heat of full-out anal, Castiel couldn't push Dean from his mind, couldn't help but remember, yearn, compare.

_ Maybe I shouldn't bother coming. Balthazar doesn't deserve the honor of my semen painting his stomach, doesn't deserve the pleasure I'm giving him, with all his resistance and backtalk and-- _

Balthazar's hips burst up from the bed.

"Stop!" snarled Castiel.

"Can't..." Balthazar gasped, eyes closed with bliss, head rolling side to side against the covers. "...can't...sorry, sir...I'm sorry, I..."

The useless son of a bitch was coming.

Fury and...yes, that emotion was  _ definitely _ relief...evaporated Castiel's arousal as he hauled himself up off Balthazar's dick. The formerly transparent condom was painted white, Balthazar's dick twitching and bobbing through his orgasm.

_...if Dean broke this way, I'd... _

"You had one job," Castiel said, breathless, deadly calm and steady.

_...fuck, I’d destroy him, and it would be glorious... _

"Whoopsie?"

_ But Balthazar isn't worth my time, isn't worth my effort. _

"Whoopsie."

_ Once upon a time, this would be - an opportunity to exact retribution, to punish, to exert my power. But now... _

"That was...it felt so good, sir," Balthazar offered with the merest show of contrition.

_ I don't want to dom, if Dean isn't my sub. _

"I'm so happy for you," Castiel snapped coldly.

_ I don't want to go to the effort, if Dean isn't my reward. _

"Will you punish me now?" Breathless, eager, Balthazar lifted himself up on the bed, for the first time seeming truly present, truly interested. He wasn't the first sub Castiel had met obsessed with disobedience, obsessed with the consequences of his actions, and if that's what Meg thought Castiel wanted in his pet, she had even less understanding of him than he'd thought. 

_ I don't want to be with someone,  _ anyone _ , other than Dean. _

Dean back-talked, and Dean sassed, and Dean teased, and yes, Castiel punished him sometimes, but that wasn't the basis of their relationship. When they'd been together, Dean had tried, tried and tried and tried, so. damn. hard. to be the sub that Castiel wanted, and Castiel had driven himself constantly to be the dom that Dean deserved.

_ I miss him so much. _

Whoever they'd been when they were apart, they were both better when they were together.

_ And he'll never be mine again. As good a dom as I was then...I’ll never be that man again. _

"Sir?"

_ So I'm done. _

Anger, frustration, disappointment, arousal, drained out of him, and only exhaustion took their place. Lube dripped, cold and slimy, down his bare inner thigh.

_ Fuck this. _

"I'm not going to punish you," said Castiel. He heaved a sigh. Balthazar blinked, vision coming obviously into focus, frowning in his confusion. "I'm going to clean you up. Let's put something soothing on that nipple, and then...and then I'd like you to leave."

"...oh." Balthazar sounded genuinely disappointed. "I thought you wanted...liked..."

"I told you what I wanted." Sounding hollow, feeling hollow, Castiel pulled his pants back on, walked to the bathroom with the cloth sticking, gross, to the lubricant, and returned with a wet washcloth. "For all the good that did either of us." He rolled the condom off and scrubbed the white streaks from Balthazar's softening dick. "I should never have asked you home with me tonight. I'm sorry."

"I'd ask if I did something wrong, but I know...I intentionally..." Balthazar shook his head as Castiel crossed the room, tossed the cloth in the laundry, retrieved his favorite soothing cream. "Perhaps I should apologize to you. Yes - yes, sir, I'm sorry. I tried to play a part - tried, based on what Meg told me - to play the sub I believed you would enjoy being with, and in so doing, I fear I misjudged badly."

So, here, finally, was the real Balthazar. He sounded nice, friendly, sincere, appreciative. He smiled sheepishly as Castiel massaged the lotion into his abused breast, shrugged and accepted a hand up from the bed when Castiel was done. 

"We both misjudged," said Castiel sadly. "Perils of scening with as little beforehand conversation as we had. Dangers of relying on hearsay."

In silence, Castiel guided him to the living room, helped him into his clothes.

"You know," Balthazar offered shyly. The emotion didn't mesh neatly with his cocky affect, but it was the best name for the emotion Castiel could find - timid, a little coy...submissive. "We could do this again sometime if you wanted. Really do...this. Together."

"Thank you," Castiel meant that, "but no thank you," but he meant that even more. "Based on what you've said since...had we met at another time, I think perhaps we could have been good for each other. But not now."

"Because of Dean," suggestedBalthazar.

"Of course you know," Castiel said with frustrated resignation as he held Balthazar's coat for him.

"Everyone knows," Balthazar offered sympathetically.

_ Ah, but what does everyone know? _

"...awesome."

_ Do they know how badly I miss him? _

Balthazar chuckled. 

_ Do they know how much I love him? _

"Thank you for your time this evening, Balthazar. I hope you have a wonderful night."

_ Do they know it's all my fault he left - all my fault for asking more than he was prepared to give and letting my anger get the better of me? _

"Thanks for the toss in the hay, Cassie. You take care of yourself, okay?"

_ Do they know that he said he'd move in, after I asked him, but that I rebuked him? _

Castiel shrugged noncommittally.

_ Do they know if I'd just talked with him, listened to him, waited until he was sober and less freaked out, we might have reached an understanding? _

Castiel didn't want to take care of himself.

_ But instead, because Dean left, because he got drunk, because he was so obviously only telling me what he thought I wanted to hear, I told him to leave and not come back. _

He wanted to take care of Dean.

_ I don't deserve a sub like Balthazar, much less a sub like Dean. _

Moving as if in a dream, he showed Balthazar out, locked the door behind him, and stood by the door, staring blankly at his living room.

_ What now? _

Walking aimlessly, he crossed to his couch, dropped limply down onto it, slouched back, and let his eyes go out of focus on his vacant tv screen.

_ Nothing, now. _

A single tear streaked down his face.

_ Nothing, tomorrow. _

Another tear beaded along the rim of his eye, dripped down his cheek as he tried to blink it away.

_ Nothing, ever again. _

Biting his lip to hold back sobs, Castiel sat, and wept, and remembered, and regretted, god, how much he regretted.

_ Precisely as I deserve. _

_ Oh, Dean. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed posting yesterday, the chapters are getting longer and my kids haven't been giving me much time to edit - if they don't nap, I can't edit, and they've not been napping well. I'm still about 10k ahead in first draft than what I've got here, so I'm gonna try to keep the pace up, but some of the upcoming chapters are very long so no promises...

_ Hands nudged Dean, pushed him, rearranged him - strong hands, large, unmistakably masculine - and Dean would have purred if he could. He knew those hands, missed those hands inexpressably. If he could have moved he would have, shifted to expose himself, splayed his legs in offering, bared himself in a show of vulnerability, but his body was lethargic, unresponsive, stiff, useless. The touch was oddly disconnected from reality, distant, dull, pressure ebbing and flowing like rising waves. _

No, Cas - don't go - I'll be good, I'll be--

_ Whimpers leaked from him, shameful, desperate, and he wanted, needed...but he was paralyzed, couldn't even rouse himself to follow that receding touch, and-- _

"Oh, moppet, is this truly what you're reduced to?"

_ That doesn't sound like Cas...I thought...I hoped... _

Confusion rippled through Dean and he forced his eyes open. He slumped on his sofa, bleary vision taking in a tilted, blurry view of his living room, Rowena standing at arms length, eyeing him critically, smile incongruously gentle.

_ Right. Rowena. My domme.  _

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

_ Not Cas, never... _

Moisture fuzzed out his vision, his throat raw from his earlier sobs, a tickle at his Adam’s apple warning him that more tears could easily fall.

_ I should abase myself, offer myself, apologize, behave...I'm hers, and... _

_ And fuck it. _

Anger sluiced away his grief.

"Whaddaya want?" he mumbled.

Her quirked eyebrow crept higher, disdain and judgement never so eloquently expressed.

_ Not true, Cas could express his displeasure with the merest of blinks and I could read him so easily, so perfectly, I never doubted...until I doubted everything... _ S

Rowena waited for him to adjust his behavior to her expectations - or he assumed that was why she waited, lifting her elegantly gloved arms to fold them beneath her breasts - and Dean thrust out his bottom lip petulantly. His eyes were gritty from dried salty tears, his mouth tasted worse than ass, his back ached from dozing off seated on the couch, and Cas’ eternal, forever-more absence was an unhealable hole rent in his chest.

He was so far past giving a flying fuck if Rowena was unhappy with him.

_ What'll she do, punish me? Just like she does randomly all the fucking time? Boo hoo fricken hoo. _

"I came to check on my sub," she said in clipped tones. "I hardly expected to find..." She unfolded one arm to give an expressive gesture that took in the immaculate room contrasted with the ruin of Dean. Struggling toward alertness, Dean blinked, got an arm under himself, pushed himself up, and collapsed back against the couch.

"How'd you even get in here?" he grouched. This was his space, the only place in the world he could be just  _ Dean _ . He didn't give his doms access to his apartment, and didn't want to give it up -  _ not even for Cas, why did he ask me to? _ \- and certainly hadn't given Rowena a key.

Her lips spread into a faint smile and she produced, as if by magic, his front door keys.

"Did you make a copy?" he spluttered indignantly, finally rousing himself in what was meant to be an angry leap to his feet, but was more an intimidating totter, his knees knocking the coffee table. "How dare you--"

"Oh, moppet," she laughed. "You left them in the door."

Dean froze, stunned. "I...left..."

"The door was unlocked and the keys were in the lock," she repeated, tossing the keys down to clank on the coffee table.

Mentally, Dean replayed his evening - going to the bar, seeing Cas, seeing Cas  _ happy  _ with  _ someone else _ , stumbling home, tumbling into the room to sob pathetically on the floor, the door slamming shut behind him... 

"Oh." He dropped back onto the couch, tears rimming his eyes again. 

_ What, and now I'm gonna cry in front of Rowena? Fuck my life. _

"How long are you going to do this to yourself, moppet?"

"Don't do nothing to myself," he grumbled, anger curling through him at the nickname. He was done being her moppet, done being hers, except... "That's why I keep you around."

"I'm aware," she said archly, "and I've tried to give you the punishment you believe you need, tried to be the domme you desired. It’s been fun, and highly satisfying for me, but for you? Where does it end, Dean? When have you paid enough?"

"Never." The word escaped him faster than conscious thought, absolutely and utterly true.

"Then you'll have to find a different domme," she said. "Your wallowing has grown...tiresome."

Objections, complaints, ire rose in him. He'd done everything she'd asked for a year, accepted every ludicrous costume she'd clad him in, kowtowed for every unreasonable punishment, and now  _ she _ was tired of  _ him _ ?

_...wait, didn’t I text her earlier? _

"Fuck you," he muttered.

_ Oh, hell. I can't say that, not to her, not to my domme, not to any dom, but-- _

_ She's not my domme any more. _

_ She just dumped me. _

_ And I have a vague memory...I might have...I think I dumped her? _

_ A mutual dumpening? _

_ Besides, I would have said that to Cas, if he'd done a quarter of the shit she did. _

"There's the fire that first drew me to you," she said fondly. Shaking her head, setting curls to bouncing about her ears, Rowena stepped to the couch and sat beside him, careful to not so much as brush thigh to thigh. "Dean, darling. You're boring."

"Boring?" he echoed incredulously.

"Is this - is how we've played - truly what you want?"

_ Of course not. I want-- _

"You're what I deserve," he mumbled, cutting off the thought ruthlessly. 

_ I don't get to have what I want. _

"Yes, you wanted punishment, and I've done my damnedest to deliver that for you, as you asked from the beginning," she agreed. "But I think we both know what... _ who _ ...you actually want."

"Whaddaya you know?" He hated how petulant he sounded, but he couldn't help it. Maybe, if he kept acting out, she'd punish him, she'd stop him, she'd...no, she wouldn't, she'd just dumped him, and he couldn't even find it in himself to be hurt.

"Moppet."

He didn't care.

"Sweetie."

Being with her had never been about her anyway, not really, though he'd never before let himself think of it in those terms.

"Everyone knows."

But now he'd be alone again.

"So I need you to ask yourself..."

Fuck but he  _ hated _ being alone.

"...if you want Castiel Novak so badly, why don't you  _ do _ something about it?"

Something in Dean's mind snapped. Surging to his feet with a snarl, he rounded on her, staring down at her as he had never done when she was dominant and he submissive. From this angle, she looked small physically, though still huge in countenance, serene, unflappable, smiling benignly at his show of temper. "What. the fuck. do you.  _ think.  _ you know. about it? Always think you're so damn smart, Rowena. Always have a simple, magical solution to every problem. My mouth on your cunt can’t fix this,  _ moppet _ . I had my chance with him, and I fucking blew it. Cas doesn't want me back!"

"You're positive about that?"

"He's had plenty of fucking chances!"

"Really?"

"Just...just..." Exasperated, because she was infuriating, because Dean had no good answer for her, Dean threw up his hands, fished for a reply, slumped in surrender. 

_ What if she’s right?  _ _ _

_ What if Cas would take me back?  _

_ She doesn’t know jack shit. _

_...unless she does? _

"Just talk plain, ok?" 

"You've been with me for a year," she explained with a condescending smile, hands folded in her lap, a teacher instructing an unusually slow student. "He'd never approach you while you were with another dom. And before you and I started playing, that first year when everything was fresh, do you think he'd have asked again? Knowing he hurt you? Knowing he had no right to ask you back, after how he behaved?"

_ What about how I behaved? What about how little I deserve him back? _

"But...he's a dom!" 

_ He's _ my  _ dom _ !

"Don't be a fool. You've been in the scene long enough to know better. The power to begin and end any liaison is always, always yours."

"But you just dumped m--"

"Have you ever tried simply  _ speaking _ with him?"

"Wha... I... the fuck kind of stupid question is that? Of course we've...I mean..."

_ I've seen him so many times since then. _

Her smile widened, revealing a glimpse of sparkling white teeth.

_ But, in two years, have we ever actually...spoken? Directly? To each other? _

Dean snapped his mouth shut around fumbling, meaningless noises. "No," he managed to mumble. He opened his mouth again, closed it, opened, closed it, then added, "and now it's too late."

"Is it?"

"What the fuck about ‘ _ just talk plain _ ’ isn't clear to you?"

_ God, she’s such an infuriating, domineering, aggressive, smarmy... _

"What's preventing you from speaking with him right now?"

_...brilliant, beautiful, caring woman. _

"He went home from someone else," said Dean, resisting the urge to smash a fist against his wall, resisting the urge to weep.

_ And she knows me way too fucking well. _

"And you know that because...?" A glint of triumph sparkled in her lovely eyes and the first glimmers of suspicion twisted Dean's gut.

_...or at least, there’s something she knows too well. _

"What're you playing at?"

_ She  _ does  _ know more than she should. What’s going on here? _

"I have eyes, darling," she said crisply. "And an iota of sense, unlike some people."

"You've been fucking with me on purpose? To set me up with my ex? God, you're such a bitch."

"Takes one to know one."

" _ He's with someone else. _ "

"You’re sure about that?"

_ I mean...I didn't see them leave together... _

"Absolutely positive?"

_...why did Castiel talk to me last week? _

“Are you prepared to stake your future chance at happiness on a supposition based on a passing glimpse at Club H?”

_ And why does she care? _

"Just...for once stop teasing me and tell me what you mean." Dean meant to sound frustrated, resigned, but mostly he sounded tired and hopeless.

Producing a cell phone from amidst the folds of her dress, she tapped and scrolled then held it up. An image on the screen shower the man Castiel had been speaking with leaning against the bar at Club H. The time stamp said 11:38 PM. The clock at the top of the phone screen said 11:43 PM.

_ If Cas went home with someone, it wasn’t smarmy butt face. _

"So, Mr. Novak is somewhere, stag, and Mr. Winchester is moping at home, newly single," she announced, connecting the dots as if he couldn't for himself.

_ Can I? I can't even remember if Cas and I have had an actual conversation in two damn years. _

"What are you going to do about it?"

Dean's eyes flew to the door, his feet lagging a moment behind his torso; he stumbled, caught himself on the door knob, twisted it, and--

"Uh,uh, uh, not yet, moppet," Rowena interrupted. 

"I'm not your fucking mop--"

Rising smoothly, she crossed to him, silenced him with a finger raised to his lips, and used her other hand to deftly undo his pants. His jeans tumbled down about his ankles. Before he could protest, she reached into his boxers and unerringly found the clasp on his cock cage. It opened with a click, freeing him, an uncomfortably unconstrained feeling after months contained. Fabric tickled at the sensitive skin, her fingers spared him a single caress, and then her touch and the hard-sided plastic cage were gone, withdrawn, tucked back into another mystery pocket in her dress.

"Good boy," she said fondly. She patted his cheek. "It's been fun, but it's time you go and get what you deserve."

_ I deserve nothing. _

His face must have fallen, for she rolled her eyes, turned the next soft pat into a gentle slap, and shoved him toward the door. 

"Go to Castiel, moppet. Consider it my final command, if you must."

"Yeah..."  _ This is a terrible idea _ . "Yeah, I'll do that."  _ But if it's an order...  _ "I should..."  _...and if Cas is truly alone.. _ . "I'll, uh..." He pulled the door open and stepped out, her hand falling from his face with a final caress.

"Keys?" she suggested wryly.

"Right. Yeah."

Dazed, he took them from her, pocketed them. He took another step. Something seemed...off.

"Pants?"

Feeling stupider by the minute, Dean pulled his pants back up while standing on the stair landing before his door. "Anything else I've forgotten, mistress?" he offered. He could give her that much, at least. Fuck, but he owed her.

"Far too much," she said kindly, a beautiful glimpse of everything that had drawn Dean to her in the first place. "But I think Castiel can remind you. Go now."

Nodding, Dean...Dean  _ obeyed _ .

In a daze, he tromped down the stairs.

In a daze, he left the lobby, letting the heavy fire door clang behind him.

In a daze, he took the long forgotten, unforgettable route to Castiel's apartment.

_ I forgot to lock my door again. _

In a daze, he blinked at his own stupidity.

In a daze, he stopped before the ornate entryway to Cas' building. 

In a daze, he waited until another resident came out, mumbling something about forgetting his keys to the indifferent stranger who held the door for him.

In a daze he stepped to the elevator, hit the “up” button, and waited a lifetime of seconds for it to arrive.

In a daze, he rode up, up, up, until the elevator doors opened.

In a daze, he took one stumbling step, then another, another, another, until he stood before Castiel's front door.

_ What the hell am I doing here? _

_ Am I really going to do this? _

_ Why should anything be different now? _

_ Why would he look at me with anything other than hatred? _

_ How can he ever forgive me? _

_ But Rowena is right. _

_ Rowena is  _ always _ right. _

_ I'll never know if I don't simply  _ ask _. _

_ And... _

_ And... _

_ And I've  _ got _ to know. _

Hand shaking, Dean lifted an arm that had never felt so heavy, even after the most intense scene, and rang the doorbell.

His heart thudded.

_ What if he isn't home? _

Thudded.

_ What if he won't open the door when he sees it's me? _

Thudded.

_ What if he rages, yells, kicks me out again? _

Thudded.

_...what if he's happy to see me? _

Thudded.

_ What will I say, what will I do, if by some miracle he doesn't rebuke me? _

Thudded.

_ That's even more terrifying to contemplate than-- _

Thudded.

The door opened.

Thudded. 

Castiel stood framed by the jamb, dark hair haloed to a fuzzy black mop top by the lights of the living room. He looked drawn, tired, like he hadn't eaten or slept well in far, far too long. His eyes were dull, his lips drawn in a tight pale line.

Thudded.

He looked terrible.

Thudded.

He looked  _ spectacular _ .

And stopped.

Cas' eyes went wide and so, so blue. Meeting them was like drowning, and Dean would thank Cas for the privilege even if he never again came up for air.

_ I would die for him. _

All the confidence that had evaporated when, two years ago Castiel had met his eye and said, "Dean, would you like to live with me?" returned in an exhilarating rush.

_ But I’m not being asked to die for him, or to move in. All I need to do is say... _

"Hey, Cas."


	9. Chapter 9

Dean.

Standing there.

Real.

Solid.

Existent.

Casual in a t-shirt and worn jeans.

Bowlegs curling out to support him.

Lips curled in a slight smile.

Tanned skin flushed with mild exertion.

Eyes gathering the light of the hallway to glow faint green-and-gold.

Thoughts reeling, Castiel opened his mouth but no words came out. 

_ What can I possibly say? _

He snapped his mouth shut again.

_ Oh my God. Dean is here, now, in front of me. Dean is speaking with me. What is going on? Why is this happening? I don't understand. _

Hope and fear and bewilderment and desperation collided in Castiel's mind and left him paralyzed.

Dean's expression fell.

"May, uh," Dean grimaced, and Castiel would never have dreamed that so small a withdrawal of unexpected affection could shatter his heart anew. "May I come in?"

_ How must I look right now? How must I seem? _

Not trusting himself to speak, Castiel stepped aside and gestured welcome, trying to force his face to show even an iota of what he felt.  _ What do I feel? I don’t even know.  _ His facial muscles were locked into the same expression he'd worn while lingering on the couch: stern, neutral, closed, lost. Dean strode in, like he belonged in Castiel's space, like he'd never left; Castiel shut the door behind him, not turning the locks. Dean wasn't trapped, wasn't a prisoner. Dean could leave whenever he wanted, and Castiel would put no impediment in his way.

_ Even if the last thing I want is to ever, ever,  _ ever _ see him walk out that door again. _

Tension knit Dean's shoulders beneath his shirt, betraying the nerves Dean must be feeling. Competing impulses warred through Castiel -  _ greet him, welcome him, offer him a seat, ask if he'd like refreshment, invite him to my bedroom, say  _ anything _ , or, or, or, or, or-- _

"Are you gonna say anything?" Dean burst out. Castiel couldn't even get his head to nod or shake. His hand yet rested on the door knob.  _ This is my home, but if I could flee this meeting, leave him in command of the field, I'd be gone.  _ "Okay. No. Even if you're angry. Even if you hate me. Even if...I don't even fucking know...but I came here because there's shit you gotta know and I'm a damned son of a bitch for having never had the balls to say any of it to you, so I'm gonna...I'm gonna say my piece and..." Dean glanced Castiel's way and wilted under the steadiness of Castiel's gaze. Castiel would have given anything to shatter his own appearance of composure but he couldn’t move, couldn’t react, couldn’t smile, couldn’t risk  _ feeling  _ when Dean might vanish at any moment. A lifetime of training, from his earliest childhood with his stern, loveless uncle and aunt, had taught him that whatever he thought, he mustn't betray a hint, and that was when he  _ knew  _ what he thought, whereas now he had  _ no idea  _ what he was feeling, what he  _ should  _ be feeling, and now Dean stood there, achingly close, a galaxy away, and Castiel couldn't...couldn't...

_...can't let him leave again... _

...and no words would come. No reaction could escape the chaos disordering every corner of his mind. He opened his mouth, tried to rouse himself, as tears filmed his eyes.

_...please, Dean...don't give up on me…I’m trying… _

_...am I really? _

_...why is he here? What does he want? How can this even be real? How is he standing in my living room? How is he strolling back into my life? How am I supposed to react? What am I supposed to say? What...how...why...? _

"I'm sorry." The words seemed torn from Dean, layered with emotion fathoms deep, and as rapidly as anarchy had reduced Castiel to a blithering, mute buffoon, serenity returned. One step, another, another, carried Castiel to where Dean stood.  _ This is a bad idea. _ He lifted his hands.  _ This is a terrible idea _ . He cupped Dean's cheeks. _ 'I'm sorry' doesn't mean I'm forgiven, doesn't mean he wants to try again, only means his regrets might be a fraction as agonizing as mine are _ . He yanked Dean's face against his, smashed their lips together.  _ But he's here and he apologized and he could stop me easily if he wanted to and I'm not his dom right now, and he must know that I'd never force him, but I still shouldn't be, shouldn't... _

Dean's lips moved against his, reciprocating the kiss.

_ Why am I like this? _

Gasping, getting himself under control as he should have been from the start, Castiel pushed himself from Dean.

_ This is all wrong. _

It was as garbage a kiss as Castiel had ever been involved in, rough and quick, over as soon as it began.

_ This is...this is so so right. _

It was as glorious a kiss as Castiel had ever,  _ ever _ , shared with anybody.

Even Dean.

"Cas..." Dean breathed.

"Hello, Dean." There were Castiel's words, deep and rumbly, scratchy dry from the grief he'd been unable to contain earlier. 

"That was, uh, something," said Dean. "What's...um...what's going on right now?"

"Damned if I know," was all Castiel could offer in reply. Dean huffed out a breath, nodding as if he understood, and a glow swelled Castiel's chest.

_ He does understand, I truly think he does, but I'm done assuming, done thinking I know what's going on in his head, done assuming he has the least idea what's going on in my head unless I tell him. _

"Why are you here, Dean?" he asked.

Dean blinked at him, eyes flicking to Castiel's mouth, spun on a heel and dropped onto the couch.

"I thought...I, um...I hoped...we could talk."

"...about?"

_ Please say everything. Because I want to talk to you about  _ everything _ , always, every day, every minute from this one on. _

"Uh...well, that kiss for one," said Dean, fixing his gaze on the coffee table. "...and...about last Friday, and about...about..." Castiel felt keenly how tall he was compared to Dean's seated form, how he loomed, how intimidating that must be given his affect. "...about you, and me, and just..." There was no other chair in the small living room, so Castiel sat on the floor, putting him below Dean, in perfect position to meet Dean’s lowered gaze. Dean's eyes widened and his mouth worked around whatever else he'd meant to say.

"...and?"

"And?" echoed Dean, dazed, beautiful, and Castiel finally found his smile.

"And what else did you wish to discuss?"

"Everything," Dean finished lamely. "Us."

"Us," Castiel murmured. It was the nicest word he'd heard in years. "Is there an 'us,' Dean?"

"There was, once," Dean suggested hesitantly.

_ I'd like there to be again, so badly, but if I'm not careful, this will go like our last conversation. Dean will leave, come back sloshed and say whatever he thinks I, as his dom, want to hear. _

_ I do want to be his dom again, but more than that, I want... _

"I, um, I wouldn't mind there being again, maybe..."

_...I want there to be an  _ us _ , under any conditions he'll accept. If that means no power exchange, so be it. If it means we’re in the closet, so be it. Hell, if I have to be his sub, then so be it - if only he’ll have me back. _

"...if we can work some shit out first."

Castiel nodded slowly. His heart tried to pound out of his damn chest. Never in his wildest dreams, his most inappropriate fantasies, had Castiel dared hope Dean might want him back. 

"Is that something you would want?" asked Dean. 

_ How does he sound so confident, so put together, while I sit here a blathering wreck? _

"Seriously, man, you gonna give me  _ anything _ ?"

_ Well, he's a mess too, if all the stuttering and stammering is any sign. Knowing him...he's as terrified as I am. _

"I shouldn't have come...shouldn't have opened my fat mouth... _ definitely _ shouldn't have kissed you...fuck, I'm sorry, I--"

_ This is ridiculous. _

"Dean."

I'm  _ ridiculous _ .

Dean flinched at the harshness in Castiel's voice. 

"I would..." Castiel swallowed, fishing for the right word... _ love to, adore to, give anything to, do anything to...no, I can’t say that, any of that, but I have to say  _ something _ or he’s going to leave. _ "I would be...very... _ extremely _ ...amenable to resuming a relationship with you."

"Oh," said Dean faintly. 

_ I used to think he could read me well...that I could read him well...if that was ever true, it's certainly not now. Something needs to change or we'll both get so wrapped up in worrying and doubting that we'll talk each other out of whatever we may yet become to each other. _

"Aren’t you...even a little worried...that maybe you’re jumpin’ the gun? Don'tcha even want to know what I'm sorry for?"

_ There must be some way to set him at ease, to set us both at ease. _

"Very much so." Warmth finally tinged Castiel's voice, his confidence growing now that the baseline question of ‘ _ why is Dean here _ ’ had the semblance of an answer. "I want to know what brought you here, how you've been, why you're sorry." Now that he was talking, finally, the words were an avalanche, spilling forth, carrying everything Castiel was in their wake. "I want to tell you how sorry I am, and how much I missed you, how many nights I dreamed of you, everything, Dean - I want to tell you everything." With every declaration, Dean's eyes grew wider, his expression more vulnerable, until finally he broke into a beautiful, faint, hopeful smile.

"But first, if I may..." Castiel continued hesitantly.

And Dean closed off.

The pleasure swelling Castiel's chest ebbed.

_ But I still need to say, this need to request this. He'll either say no, and I will have to accept that as final, or he'll say yes, and it'll help me, help us both, so much as we struggle to say what's in our hearts despite the fears aroused by every misread nuance. _

"...I thought...perhaps...if you'd like...would you join me in my bed?"

"Little soon for that," said Dean dryly, a brusque brush over the confusion evident in the twist of his lips

"Sorry, I'm unclear..." Castiel flushed, embarrassed. Dean was right, this was asking too much, asking more even that Dean was supposing. Castiel didn't want sex...or at least, didn't want sex  _ now _ , not until they'd talked, recovered, compared, rebuilt even some of what they once were to each other. 

Castiel wanted something far more frightening, something he had far less right to ask for. 

"I...I am full of doubts, and despite your words, your expressed interest...I can't lose you again." Castiel looked up, timid, optimistic, and was relieved to see Dean’s small, hopeful smile had returned. "I thought...if we lay together, if we touched, if we could offer some small reassurance of commitment, of presence, maybe..." His words felt so stilted, so inadequate. Meeting Dean's eyes, he tried to return that smile, tried to communicate silently all that he was failing to say, all that he  _ had _ to find a way to say.

Dean said nothing.

And stared.

His eyes narrowed.

The distance between them had never seemed so great, though that was obvious nonsense. They were close, so much closer than Castiel had dared to dream they’d ever be again, and it seemed possible...maybe...somehow...that if this conversation went well, they might yet be closer still.

And Dean stared.

But first they had to talk.

Somehow.

And then Dean nodded.

"I. Um. I'd like that. A lot."

And he smiled.

And the sun rose on Castiel for the first time in years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - I'm so, so sorry about the delay in this chapter. When this fic got so much longer than I was expecting, I had to shelve it short term to meet a couple other writing deadlines (one for a zine, one for an exchange). Then, my wife's chronic illness went a bit south, so I've had to pick up a lot of slack at home, and just. It's always something, right?
> 
> I'm not sure the exact timeline on finishing this off but I'll do my best.

Inhale. 

Cas’ bedroom was smaller than Dean remembered. 

Exhale. 

Cas’ bed was more comfortable than Dean remembered. 

Inhale. 

Cas was far, far less confident than Dean remembered. 

Exhale. 

Cas was warmer than Dean remembered, so hot against his back. One arm curled awkwardly beneath Dean, hand tense against Dean's belly. The other rested against Dean's side, draped over his chest, fingers curling over his shoulder. Cas’ breaths ghosted humid over Dean's skin, stirring the short hairs on the back of his neck. Where Cas’ stomach pressed to Dean's back, there was the minutest sense of trembling, shivering outward from Cas, tingling down Dean's spine.

Inhale.

Before they'd lain close, Dean had found Castiel impenetrable, baffling, intimidating, even frightening, but now he understood.

Exhale.

Cas was  _ terrified _ .

"What happened to you?" Dean breathed, breaking the silence that had reigned since they'd embraced, entwined, beneath the covers of Cas’ bed.

"You," murmured Cas, then started, tension tightening his arms around Dean's torso. "I mean...I shouldn't say--"

"You should say whatever's true," interrupted Dean. "I fucked shit up the first time 'cause I couldn't say what I meant. If we're gonna take a stab at this again, that's the first thing we gotta change."

Cas' only reply was a slight nod, his chin bumping into Dean's shoulder. His trembling deepened, though, and Dean knew he had to say something to set Cas at ease.

If only he had any idea what.

_ Were we always this bad - was he always this bad at speaking his mind? How did I never noticed? No wonder everything was a mess. No wonder  _ we  _ were a mess. _

_ And no wonder he got so angry with how I handled things then. How difficult must it have been for him to ask me to move in? _

_ We both did our parts to shatter what we had together, and we'll both have to do our parts to fix it, but if I have to outlay more at first...I can do that. _

_ For Cas, I can, I  _ must _ , do that. _

"Roll over," Dean ordered. Cas startled again, shifted hesitantly, loosened his embrace, but didn't obey. "Come on, Cas. I don't bite - or, at least, I only bite with advanced consent or when explicitly ordered to do so." Dean twisted free, turning and hoisting himself up on an elbow so he could see Cas' expression. "So can ya stop acting like I'm here to fricken execute you or something?"

"You could, you know," said Cas, blinking slowly, expression closed. "From the minute we met, you could have slain me with a word."

The confession was a shock, though with a moment’s reflection Dean knew it shouldn’t have been, because… "Backatcha."

"Eloquent." Cas managed a wry smile, but his brow was yet furrowed with anxiety. His embrace was yet tense, unnatural, not right. If the idea had been that lying together in bed would calm Cas, calm them both, Cas spooning Dean was an epic fail. Dean felt better, but Cas was wrecked.

_ How much time and effort did he put into saying and doing things that set me at ease, when we scened, when we dated? _

_ He deserves that I make the least attempt to do the same. _

"Yeah, yeah, you use your tongue pretty enough for both of us." Dean laughed. The jokes felt forced, but Cas' expression eased further and Dean struggled to keep himself open, easy, unafraid. 

_ As long as he has to be strong, has to be the big spoon, has to be my dom, we’re never gonna get anywhere. Cause he’s not strong right now, he’s small and scared and so, so sweet, and… _

_...I know what I need to do. _

"You gonna roll to your other side or do I gotta make you?" asked Dean gruffly.

Hesitantly, Castiel obeyed, stiff and ungainly, so beautiful in profile, his nose, chin, cheeks perfect as if he'd been chiseled from marble. "Like this?"

"Perfect."

_ How uncomfortable that exchange feels - how reversed - how often did I worry, how often did he praise and reassure me? _

Cas shivered, stiff and distant though his warmth yet glowed against Dean’s skin.

_ Did I  _ ever _ praise and reassure him? _

The bed bounced and jostled as Dean flopped against Cas’ back, lay an arm flat between them, wrapped the other tight and strong around Cas’ back. Cas’ leaked a precious wounded noise and shimmied back against him, head arching, throat bared, so vulnerable. He fit so wonderfully against the curve of Dean's chest, belly and thighs, felt so right within Dean's embrace.

_ Was I  _ ever _ the big spoon? _

_ He never gave me the least hint this was something he might want from me. _

_ But I never asked. _

_ Fuck, but we both suck at words. _

"Dean, I..." Cas shook his head, shimmying back closer to Dean. "I don't know what to say."

" 'kay," said Dean. He wriggled free the arm he'd tucked between them, slid it under his own head, combed his fingers through Cas' hair. "How 'bout you listen instead?"  _ What would Cas say to me, if our positions were reversed? _ "Can you do that for me?"

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas blurted, startling Dean. Cas twisted enough that he could barely catch Dean's eye with one of his, and with a painfully earnest expression, he continued, "I should never have asked you...I knew what you wanted, and I asked you to move in anyway, and it was foolish and selfish and then when you came back I got so angry instead of listening to you and it was wrong of me - I was so, so wrong. I...I..."

"You're still not listening," Dean interjected gently. Cas blushed crimson, and Dean's heart gave the oddest flutter.

_ Frustrating, maddening, endearing son of a... _

"I'm sorry, Cas."

"Why?" Cas sounded like he'd never heard anything so unfathomable as that Dean might have anything to apologize for, and Dean's heart might have broken if it wasn't glowing so warmly, healing so quickly, just by having Cas near him.

"You're right," Dean allowed. "You did push my boundaries. But dude...I usually  _ loved _ when you pushed my boundaries. That was, like, the entire basis of our fricken relationship. And how I reacted...look, my gut reaction was, 'no I'm not ready' and I shoulda fuckin'  _ said that  _ cause when I look back now it's so damn clear what woulda happened - you'd have gotten that serious fuckin' look on your face--" Dean pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in imitation of Cas at his must stern, and lowering his voice, he said, "'Of course, Dean, I understand, whatever you're comfortable with' and we'd have done our thing for a few days and I'd have been shoulders deep in some fucker's car a week later and realized that of fricken course I wanted to live with you and that woulda been that.

"And instead I went totally stupid, violated one of the only hard and fast rules ya ever laid down, and then came back here and spewed some shit about moving in when I knew, I  _ knew _ , it wasn't what I wanted and it wasn't what you'd wanna hear." He shook his head, nuzzling his nose against the back of Cas' neck. "Stupidest fuckin' mistake of my life, Cas. Hasn't been a day since I haven't regretted it. And I'm so, so sorry."

"What would you have said?" asked Cas hoarsely. Unsure what he meant, Dean hesitated, and Cas clarified, "If I hadn't made you leave that night, what would you have said?"

"Fuck if I know," Dean huffed out a self-recriminating laugh. "Something. Anything. That night fucked me up so bad, ya know?"

"I didn't know," said Cas. "But I should have. I handled things...dreadfully. Abysmally. I knew what I wanted and tried to  _ make _ you give it to me, regardless of what I believed your preferences to be. I tried to extend our relationship past the limits you'd set. I should never have opened my mouth."

"Bullshit," snorted Dean. "You're allowed to want shit, Cas. You're allowed to ask for what you want."

"Within the dynamic of our power exchange...no, I wasn't."

"Then our 'power exchange' was busted from the word go," said Dean.

"Did...did you just use air quotes?" Cas chuckled.

"Shaddap." Dean thwapped him across the chest. "My point is, if the entire damn premise of our relationship was that I get what I want, and you gotta bite your tongue and play at being the perfect dom, then we were doomed - no, worse than doomed. If that was gonna be forever, I'm glad shit fell apart, cause it wasn't ever gonna get better with  _ that _ as the starting point."

_ There we go. That's what I wanted him to hear. And now...  _

Glowing with happiness and pride, at himself for getting the words out, at Cas for listening, Dean waited for a reply...

...and waited...

...and waited...

...and--

"Oh," said Cas, small, pained, renewed trembling reverberating from his chest to Dean's hand.

"Aw, fuck, where did I go wrong?" Dean asked, crestfallen.

"I'm sorry if you feel I've pushed you into a renewal of intimacy you didn't seek," said Cas, trying to wiggle away. 

_ I should let him go, let him have his space if he feels that's what he needs-- _

Dean locked his arm.

_ \--but that's not what's going on here. He thinks I'm not right where I want to be, despite everything I've said, everything we've  _ both _ said...fuck, was he always this dense - were we both always this fricken dumb? _

"You've pushed me into  _ nothing _ ," snapped Dean more harshly than he meant to. Cas flinched. "You gotta listen better, and communicate better, and so've I, if we're gonna make this work."

Cas froze, stiff, uncomfortable.

"Fuck," Dean muttered. "I--"

"Do you mean that?" asked Cas in a rush.

Dean blinked, his train of thought derailing. "Huh?" 

_ Yes, perfect, that's exactly the clear communication we should be aiming for - Dean Winchester, rhetorical paragon. _

"If we're gonna make this work - that's what you said - Dean, do you  _ want _ to make this work, whatever  _ this _ is?"

"Oh, only like fuckin' crazy," Dean murmured.

The breath burst from Dean so abruptly that it wasn't until Cas' lips met his that he realized that Cas was over him, around him, straddling him, pushing his shoulders into the mattress, smearing their mouths together in kiss after sloppy kiss. 

"Sorry," gasped Cas. Kiss. "I know we've got so much more to talk about." Kiss. "We shouldn't do anything, shouldn't even have done as much as we have, until we can say what  _ this _ is." Kiss. "But I missed you so much, Dean." Kiss. "So--" Kiss. "--so--" Kiss. "--so--" Kiss. "--so--" Kiss. "much." Kiss. "And--"

"Missed you too," managed Dean, finding his voice, finding his arms reaching for Cas, finding his cock getting thick. "There's never been anyone else, no one like you, no one--"

Cas drew back as abruptly as he'd descended. Breathing hard, Dean stared up at him.

"Rowena."

"What about her?" asked Dean. Cas wanted to think about, wanted to talk about, Rowena?  _ Now _ ?

"She's your dom...she's your..." Letting his head drop back, Cas squeezed his eyes shut, apparently stuck between the urge to move away and the desire to remain. His trousers bulged at the crotch.

Dean shook his head vehemently. "She's not."

"No...no, we shouldn't...wait, what?" Cas blinked, eyes deep and dark and lovely.

"She dumped me. Or, well, I dumped her first. It was a mutual dumpening."

"A  _ what _ ?"

"She told me to find you," Dean explained. "That's actually why I'm here."

"You're here...because your domme--"

"Ex-domme!"

"-- _ ex- _ domme...what, ordered you...to come visit me?" The gears were so obviously turning in Cas' head that Dean was surprised he didn't see smoke coming out of Cas’ ears, but he had no idea what conclusion Cas was drawing.

"Cas." Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, look at me." Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Cas leaned forward and obeyed. Dean wondered if Cas realized that his lips spread in a tender smile when he met Dean's gaze; it was a beautiful, reassuring sight, especially so since Cas was withdrawing from Dean again. "We're going around in circles. Look, whatever Rowena did or didn't say to me, I'm here because right here - in this building, in this apartment, on this bed, between your legs - is the only place I've wanted to be for two and a half fricken years. Either you believe that, and we keep talking and trying to figure out what comes next, or you don't believe it, and you keep freaking out every five minutes, and that's getting really fucking old."

"I'm not freaking out," said Cas sullenly.

_ Wow, no wonder people don't like bratty subs. I could smack him right now... _

Raising an eyebrow, quirking his lips judgmentally, Dean stared Cas down.

_...but not without explicit consent… _

"Maybe I'm freaking out. A little," Cas conceded. Dean raised his eyebrow even further. "I just...I can't believe you're here. After how things ended...after the last few weeks...after last week, especially...I never, once, for a minute, for an instant, thought you'd want me back."

"But you wanted me to come back?"

"More than anything," confessed Cas. Curling forward, he leaned in, leaned down, eyes growing wider and bluer the closer they drew to Dean's face. Dean tilted his head back, settling into the pillow beneath him, expecting a kiss. Instead, Cas brought their foreheads together, eyes slipping shut only when he was close enough that distorted perspective showed Dean four eyes bottomless blue orbs instead of two. Tendrils of hair tickled at Dean's scalp, Cas' exhales suffusing Dean's nose with the sultry taste of his dom. He'd forgotten that flavor, forgotten Cas even  _ had _ a flavor, unnameable but unmistakable.

Cas slumped, his arms bracketing Dean's shoulders, his calves flush against Dean's thighs, their crotches close. 

"I can't believe you're here, Dean."

"I can't believe I'm here, either," murmured Dean, wrapping an arm around Cas' shoulders, shifting to brush his lips over Cas' cheek. "But there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Silence stretched out, Cas shaking, and it was hard not to assume the worst. 

_ He's freaking out again, circling back to what I've said and finding more to doubt - or he's realized that this...whatever this is...won’t work, or that I’m not actually who he wants, he wants that man from the bar, or, or, or... _

"I believe you," whispered Cas.

And for the first time, Dean dared to hope, dared to believe, that they might actually be okay.

"So, what is...this?" Cas murmured, turning his head toward Dean like a moth toward a flame, bringing their lips softly together. "What are we?"

_ What do I want us to be? I have a better question, one I should have asked a long time ago, because I know what I want. What I've never understood is... _

"What do you want us to be?" asked Dean. The warmth emanating from where Cas' mouth touched him, from where Cas' scruff tickled his cheek, was distracting, tantalizing, a promise for what the future held.

"That's not im--"

"It is," Dean said firmly. "If I'd known your expectations - known you might want to live together - things woulda gone different then. And I get it, you're worried that if you go first, I'll just say what I think you want to hear, but...I...actually, gimme a sec." Reluctantly taking his arm from Cas, Dean tried to continue facing into Cas' kisses as he fumbled in his pocket to retrieve his phone. "No, seriously, Cas, give me..."

Cas leaned up, eyes unfocused, hair disheveled, cheeks pinked. "What are you doing?"

"Writing," said Dean, tilting the screen so Cas could see the notepad app he'd opened. His fingers moved over the screen, typing. "This is what I want."

_ I want you to be my dom. I want you to be my power bottom. I want you to be my boyfriend.  _

_ I want to be yours. _

"You can read it after you've said your piece."

"That's a great idea." Rich, vibrant, Cas' voice made Dean's belly all warm and gooey like he was the fricken ingenue in some damn bodice ripper. 

There was no feeling in the universe like knowing Cas was pleased with him.

_ I want to be with you like this, always. _

"Done," Dean said. He hit the button to darken the screen and handed the phone to Cas. "Your turn."

"I want..." Cas rolled the word in his mouth, blinking slowly, as if savoring whatever ideas filled his mind. Holding the phone, he glanced toward it, looked down at Dean, and smiled. "I would very much like to resume our former relationship, as it was."

"Now  _ you're _ doing it," grumbled Dean. Cas' head tilted in a silent question. "Sayin' what you think I want to hear."

"Perhaps..." Cas shook his head. "...perhaps saying what I think I'm entitled to request...?"

"Fuck that," said Dean. "No relationship is gonna work if you can't be honest with me, and trust me to say what I'm cool with, and say 'fuck no' to what I'm not cool with." Cas looked troubled. " _ Tell me what you want _ ."

"You," Cas said simply. "You, submitting to me. You, beneath me. You...happy, content, sated. More than anything, Dean, I want to give you what you want." Cas hesitated, licking his lips, and fuck if that pink tongue didn't give Dean a slew of distracting ideas, but he knew Cas well enough to know there was something more, something he wasn't saying, and Dean had to know what that was. 

"...and?" he prompted.

_ If he can't find it in himself to tell me... _

Cas grimaced, looked away, licked his lips again.

_...if he can't tell me... _

Cas drew in a long breath, exhaled it, weight settling more heavy over Dean's hips, shoulders slumping with apparent defeat.

_...where will that leave us? _

"When I asked..."

Every second waiting for Cas to continue winded tension tighter in Dean's chest. Fuck, this communication shit was hard. No wonder they'd bombed it - no wonder Dean had epic failed at it in every relationship he'd been in.

"Two years ago, when I said..."

All those relationships had fallen apart.

"...I meant..."

Talking, listening, was like having his damn heart repeatedly shattered with a hammer and glued back together in a new shape, and Dean would suffer a thousand heartbreaks if it meant he and Cas could make this shit work.

"I truly did want you to live with me," admitted Cas, avoiding Dean's eyes, talking to the wall above Dean's head. "I know...that's not now. That's not where we are. But I would hope that, maybe, someday, possibly, if you wanted..."  _ Quit hedging and just fuckin' say it, Cas! _ "I'd like you to live with me, and be mine all the time - I’d like to be yours all the time."

"24/7?"

"Negotiable," added Cas hastily.

Dean's lips twisted in a considering moue.

"Only if you want," Cas repeated, desperate, terrified anew. "And not now, of course, I know we're not there, not now, maybe not ever. I don't know where we are, or what that even entirely means, so it's utterly fallacious that I project our relationship to a hypothetical future where we'd be more than we are, more even than we were when things were working best, and..." The longer Cas spoke - babbled, really - the deeper his voice got, the more red his cheeks grew, the more his chin sunk toward his chest and his eyes unfocused on the white paint above Dean's shoulder. "...and I'm still talking and you're just...I'm sorry, I shouldn't hav--"

Laughing -  _ fuck, how did I ever think he was aloof, confident, angry, he is such an adorably bumbling doof _ \- Dean grabbed Cas' cheeks, pulled him down into a hard smash of lips on lips, and whispered, "Look at the phone, idiot."

"Don't call your dom an idiot," grumped Cas, and Dean laughed harder, his thoughts echoing again the words Cas must be reading as he took up the phone, turned on the screen, and swiped the home screen to bring up the notepad Dean had left open.

"I want you to be my dom," murmured Dean, adoring the way Cas' eyes widened as he read, and stared, and looked to Dean, and returned to the screen to read again. "I want you to ride my dick, take me for all you need, and send me to bed hard." Cas looked at him, mouth open in amazement and awe. Dean's smile widened, the tightness in his chest dissipating to buoy him like a damn balloon. If he felt any happier he'd fricken float away. "I want you to be my boyfriend, Cas."  _ Boyfriend _ , Cas' lips mimicked the words as though he'd never fathomed such a concept before. "I wanna be yours."

Their eyes met.

Tears rimmed Cas' eyes, and fuck if Dean's weren't also moist, his cheeks warm, his heart pounding, his cock an obscene, deliciously hard counterpoint. 

"I would like that...very much..." said Cas, looking away as if embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

Fricken Cas, after all the filthy things he'd demanded of Dean in their six months together, his face always stern, his voice always steady, was a flushing mess over  _ I want to be yours _ .

_ In his defense...did I ever say that? _

_...in the midst of sex, from the depths of subspace, screamed out while begging, yes, I said it and said it and said it... _

_...I said it while drunk, that last night... _

_...but when I was just Dean, and he was just Cas, did I ever just flat out, honestly, straightforwardly say... _

"I wanna be together, Cas." The words were liberating, utterly true, achingly perfect. "There ain't nothing I want more."

Cas nodded slowly.

Cas set the phone aside carefully, deliberately, every movement intense, and Dean's heart thudded.

He'd seen Cas display a panoply of emotions, and he recognized that seriousness, the hallmark of some of the best days and nights of Dean's entire damned life.

Cas leaned close to him.

And Cas kissed him.

And Cas  _ owned _ him.

Pressing Dean into the bed, Cas brought their mouths together, teasing at Dean's lips with his tongue. The assurances they'd exchanged seemed to have renewed Cas' confidence; with every shift, tease, tickle, Cas' hesitance fell away. Wrapping his arms around Cas' firm, strong shoulders, Dean parted his lips, sampled Cas' tongue with his own, deepened and lengthened the kiss. Heat burgeoned within him, diffusing outward from where they touched, rolling over Dean like waves overturned the shore. 

"Tell me to stop now," whispered Cas, pivoting his hips down. Through Cas' trousers, through Dean's jeans, their thickening erections pressed together and bursts of light like supernovae dazzled Dean's vision. 

"Why?" he managed, struggling to focus on anything but Cas' lips working against his, Cas' hips working against his.

"...too soon..." Cas sounded as distracted as Dean felt, words vague as though he wasn't sure what they meant, garbled by his unwillingness to break off their kisses. 

"S'not...don't wanna..." Dean squeezed his eyes shut, forced them open clear and focused. "But if you're not ready, we don't have to."

"So ready..." breathed Cas, rubbing his forehead against Dean's and descending for another kiss. "...so want this...want you..."

"Me too." Dean rolled his hips up in emphasis. His erection was so thick it was painful, the pleasure intense yet somehow disconnected from his body. He’d been in Rowena’s cage so long, he wasn’t sure he could keep from coming immediately, he needed it so badly - needed  _ Cas  _ so badly.

"Okay," whispered Cas. "...okay..." He thrust down against Dean, pressure and friction amplified by the fabric between them. "How long..." Cas swallowed a groan, eyes rolling shut. "...how long were you in that cock cage?"

"...too long..." whispered Dean. A glimmer of anger and shame dulled his arousal, that Rowena had felt the need to use the toy, that Cas knew about it, but then Cas' hips were against his again and there was nothing but the warm, glorious, inadequate bliss.

Cas hummed an acknowledgement, weight shifting as he bore down into a deep kiss, tongue delving to lick at Dean's teeth, his palate, his tongue. Stimulation came from too many directions - his mouth, his lips, his arms tight around Cas' shoulders, his cock confined and pressed against, pressed against, pressed against...

...and then he rolled up to meet Cas and found no resistance, only air...

...and then his disappointed moan died as hot fingers curled around his dick. 

He hadn't even realized Cas had gotten his pants open.

"Fuck," Dean breathed, unable to stop himself from thrusting up into Cas' grip. 

Cas' lips finally left his own to drag wet over Dean's cheek, suck at his ear lobe, whisper, "Do it," in Dean's ear. He needed no further encouragement. After so long denied - more than a month, so long he couldn't remember when he'd last come - he couldn't have stopped. Pleasure in intense waves swept through him with every stroke, every thrust, but he felt tight, his stomach twisted, a pall over his bliss. Frustration growled in his throat. He was here, he was with Cas, he wanted this to be spectacular, perfect, but the intensity was too great, the duration of his denial too extended, and he knew...

"I'm sorry," he gasped. 

Cas froze... and maybe Dean wasn't so disconnected from the reality of his body as he feared, for the deprivation was unbearable. Rocking against the bed, tossing his head, he kept thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. Stopping was inconceivable.

"What's the matter?" Cas asked. Dean tried to answer but the words couldn't win past his panting breaths. "Have I hurt you?"

"Rowena," he managed.

"The cage," Cas said with sudden understanding. Dean nodded his agreement, bobbing his head in time to the lift of his hips. "Of course..."

Cas' face moved from Dean's neck.

Cas' weight shifted from over him.

Cas' hand left his cock.

Dean barely choked back a strained, agonized sob, writhing against the bed.

"Cas...what... _ why _ ?"

Warm, wet heat enveloped the head of Dean's cock.

Cas' mouth.

There was no restraining his next sob. 

"Cas!"

Cas hummed, gentle, reassuring, vibrating stimulation through Dean's over-sensitized cock. The head of Dean's cock rested on Cas tongue, and Cas worshiped it with laved licks and tender sucks. A hand wrapped around the exposed stalk of Dean's dick, a palm fondling his balls, and with gentle expertise Cas fricken  _ took him apart _ . Dean could only weep, and tremble, and garble out pleas around weeping. Cas' head bobbed, up, down, up, down, ministering to Dean's dick, salivating like he was savoring a delicacy, tugging and teasing his balls, lifting off to stroke Dean's full length slick and hot, descending against to suck and tease and taunt with the faintest scrape of his teeth.

His climax seemed infinitely far away, as out of reach as though a pane of glass divided Dean from rapture, but he felt glorious, pulled taut, pleasured...

...he felt  _ adored _ ...

...a new wave of bliss rocked through him and he gasped, abs tensing to half lift him from the bed.

"Cas..."

Cas lowered again and, fumbling, Dean grabbed at Cas' hair, pushing Cas down around his cock -  _ but he's my dom, I can't make him, can't push him, can't force him, can't _ ! Cas obeyed the silent instructions of Dean’s shoves and pulls, let Dean shift him, stroked with his hand when he wasn't worshipping with his mouth.

"Cas!"

"You're so close," whispered Cas, and fuck if he didn't sound wreck, hoarse and gruff, voice unbelievably deep. Dean's stomach went tight again and as he lifted from the bed he looked down to see Cas' face lowering again, mouth wide and wet around Dean's flushed cock, eyes slipping shut, cheeks flushed, forehead sweaty.

_ He's really here. _

Cas' lips sucked and tightened, massaging down Dean's length.

_ He's really wants to be my dom. _

Cas' hand rolled Dean's balls together, kneading them, teasing a nail over the sensitive, wrinkled flesh. 

_ He really wants to be my boyfriend. _

Cas' other hand rubbed roughly up Dean's side, knuckling at his waist, his belly, his tensed muscles.

_ We really want to be together. _

"Cas!" Dean gasped, frantic, so close, body so tight, pressure in his abdomen, in his heart, in his cock, twisted so tight.

Cas looked up, eyes opening to flash brilliant blue, mouth lifting from Dean's dick. Cas' hand tugged Dean's balls as he stroked up Dean's length, letting them slap back down again Dean’s perineum. His thumb teased Dean's slit. His grip slid back down. His gaze met and held Dean's, the most beautiful, perfect fucking thing he'd ever seen.

And Cas smiled at him, soft, gentle, fucking obscene with spit and pre-come coating his lips and chin.

With a gasp, Dean came, splattering Cas' face with streaks of semen.

Cas' hand stoked up again, milking him, and Dean slammed back down against the mattress as another rope of come tangled in Cas' eye lashes, dripped onto his cheeks. Pleasure spiraled through Dean, tangling with satisfaction and whispers of remaining tension, the highest heights of release denied him after so long caged. Another shock of pleasure and Dean shook, whimpering, humping awkwardly into Cas' hand.

Cas went still.

Dean went still, save for the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

And then the bed heaved, Cas rising over him, straddling him, whipping out his dick.

"Dean," he groaned, come dripping onto his vest. He stroked himself roughly, hand glimmering wet with spit. "Dean, I..." Eyes closed, his head fell back, dribbles of come shifting over his cheeks. Dean could only stare, enthralled, at his...

_...my dom, my boyfriend, my everything, my Castiel... _

...and then Cas came, pushed to the edge by his attentions to Dean, come dampening Dean's jeans and shirt, one landing on his cock to dribble down his softening length.

Ecstasy, an aftershock nearly as strong as his original climax, swept through Dean.

Weight collapsed against him, atop him, alongside him.

Dean opened his eyes.

Cas lay beside him, eyes agleam, smile broad and toothy and adorably dopey, come still white and gloppy around his eyes and atop his lip. 

"Dean."

Cas' tongue whipped out and licked it up.

"Cas."

Moving had rarely been harder, but Dean rolled to his side, reached out, cupped Cas' chin, rubbed come to oblivion against the ridge of his cheek bone.

"I'm so glad you came over tonight," Cas said with all the gravity and solemnity of a minister at fricken church. 

_...there's a kink we've never explored... _

_...well, now we've got plenty of time to experiment... _

Helpless, overwhelmed, elated, Dean could only laugh, and manage a breathy "Yeah...yeah."

"Absolutely perfect," murmured Cas, running his sloppy, filthy hand over Dean's cheek, and drawing him into a kiss.

Cas' mouth tasted like Dean's dick, like Dean's come.

It was obscene, disgusting, glorious, delicious, and...

"...absolutely perfect," he whispered.

Everything was going to be alright.

Everything was going to be perfect.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. It's been a rough couple months. Gonna try to wrap this up imminently.

The urge to continue past the bar was powerful, but Castiel steeled himself, turned to the door, and pushed it open. He'd left extra time on the way to his appointment specifically for this errand, and damn if he didn't think this almost as important as his time with Dr. Barnes promised to be.

For Dean, and for himself, Castiel had to do this.

Club H on a Wednesday afternoon was a very different place than it was on a Friday night. The lighting was bright, the music was soft, and the dance floor was obscured by tables for lunch diners who were either oblivious or indifferent to the club's evening kinkiness. However, in essentials - in the ways Castiel required - the club was very much the same. Becky was yet by the door, giving him an appreciative leer that suggested that, as usual, she knew far more than she ought; a few regulars sat scattered at tables around the rooms periphery; and Meg was mixing drinks, running the tap, and schmoozing the patrons.

Thrusting a hand in his pocket, confirming the letter he'd written under Dean's supervision was still there, Castiel walked to the bar.

"What'll you have, Novak?" asked Meg.

"Nothing today," Castiel rumbled, nerves subduing him. She started to turn toward a vaguely familiar woman sitting farther down the bar. He added hastily, "A moment of your time?"

She stopped, eyeing him warily. "Don't assume you're off my shit list just 'cause Balth was a jerk and you and Dean figured out your UST."

"Our what?" Castiel blinked.

"Whaddaya want, Clarence?" she barked.

Starting and flushing, Castiel nodded distractedly. He fumbled the letter from his pocket and lay it on the bar with a soft rustle that was overloud to his ear.

"If it's not too much bother, could you give this to Alfie when you see him next?" he asked stiffly.

Meg sniffed. "I'm not your friendly neighborhood postman."

"Of course not, I'll--"

"'Sides, you can give it to him yourself." 

Castiel's insides went ice cold, guilt and embarrassment numbing him as Meg pointed across the club to a booth on the far side of the room. The figures sitting there were indistinguishable, but Castiel didn't doubt Meg was right.

The last thing Castiel wanted was to have to actually  _ speak  _ with Alfie. That's why he'd written the note, why he'd come at 2 pm on a weekday. In the week and a half since he and Dean had finally worked things out, Castiel had heard through the grapevine that Alfie yet frequented Club H. That had offered Castiel an opportunity to apologize, and his plan had been to pass on his contrition. To actually confront his victim, to see Alfie's pain, to hear whatever incontrovertible, utterly justified anger he might hurl Castiel's way?

Castiel couldn't.

Castiel  _ had to _ .

"Thanks, Meg," he muttered, turning to walk that way.

"Forgetting something?" 

He glanced back to see her offering him the letter, lips twisted in a wry, humorless smile.

"Right. Of course." 

Castiel snatched the envelope back and, tensing himself into a semblance of confidence, strode across the club, navigating a winding path amongst the tables. The way the booth was situated, Alfie's back was to Castiel as he approached, so he swung a wide arc to avoid surprising the poor sub. And for no other reason, obviously. Definitely not trying to buy myself a few more precious moments to decide what to say or how to behave.

The moment Alfie saw and recognized him was plain; he started, paled, averted his gaze. His body language screamed that he wanted to avoid notice, avoid Castiel.

_ Would it be kindest to do as he wishes? Hand him my missive and depart? _

_ And by 'depart' I mean 'run away.' _

_ No. Meg clearly believes I should speak with him, and Dean felt as I do that I owe Alfie an apology - truly, that I owe him more than I can repay. My own ethics demand accountability for my grave errors...so is it wrong to presume that a candid conversation about our incident will help him as well? _

_...yes, it still might be… _

_...but he has the power to shut me down, should he wish to. I’m not his dom here and now, never again. _

"Alfie." Castiel announced himself, and his intention of forcing interaction, when he was still several feet away. He was prepared for Alfie to rebuke him, or cower, or beg off - "oh, it's you, sorry gotta go to the bathroom, bye!" - but Alfie looked up, smiled wanly, and met Castiel's eye with a flinch.

"Um. Hi."

_ Well, it's not an invitation, but it's not a 'go fuck yourself' either, so...now or never I guess. _

"I'm sorry," Castiel said. Alfie didn't react, and Castiel forced himself to continue. "For many things, I am so sorry - for approaching you now, for not discussing things further when we last met, and especially, extremely, for how I terminated our scene. I was, unequivocally, undeniably, without a shadow of excuse, wrong. My behavior was execrable, and I'm sorry."

Alfie's gaze grew more wide-eyed the longer Castiel spoke, color returning to his cheeks, and as Castiel feel silent he mouthed a word - echoing execrable, Castiel thought - and nodded slowly.

"Okay."

_...it’s little enough...but it’s still not a “go fuck yourself”...and really, what did I expect him to say? He’s nothing to apologize for, and absolutely no reason to forgive me, nor would I wish him to do so. _

_ My actions were unforgivable. _

_ But at least I can give him the confidence of knowing - he did absolutely nothing wrong, that the blame falls entirely on me. _

"In the mental state I was in that night, I was the worst possible person to introduce you to BDSM. I can’t apologize enough for how completely I failed you. I'm glad that you found someone to help you that night, and that I haven't ruined the scene for you."

"You don't have that kind of power, over me or anyone," replied Alfie with dignified disgust.

Castiel's guilt dissipated. That Alfie could respond to him with such strength? He would be fine.

_ Thank God - no, thank whatever dom picked up the pieces after I left him shattered. _

"You're right." Castiel even managed a smile, and tension Castiel hadn't recognized for what it was eased from Alfie's brow. "I didn't expect to see you today, so I wrote you a letter, apologizing and explaining myself. Read it or not, it’s up to you. And...perhaps you’d like to know, I'm getting help."

"From another sub?" asked Alfie disdainfully.

"From a therapist," Castiel replied. "My appointment is in ten minutes. She specializes in anger management."

Nodding slowly, Alfie's expression went pensive, accepting, and he said, "Good." Castiel handed him the note. "Good bye."

Echoing Alfie's nod, Castiel turned to leave--

\--and nearly collided with the barrel chest of a man standing behind him.

"Novak," the man said, dark and grim, gathering himself to loom threateningly though he and Castiel were the same height. Castiel didn’t know his name, but he was familiar, another dom Castiel had seen around the club. Castiel nodded wary acknowledgement. The man lifted his arms to cross them over his chest, muscles bulging, barely constrained by his short sleeves. "Is there a problem here?"

"No problem, sir," Alfie said brightly. "Castiel came over to apologize to me."

"Well, wasn't that sweet of him." The dom bared his canines. "He should be licking your boots and begging forgiveness after how he treated you."

Castiel flushed, but couldn't disagree. 

_ And if I ever hurt Dean like I hurt Alfie, if I ever even come close, that might make for a fun scene... _

"Oh, I agree - but if not for him, I wouldn't have met you, and...well...worth it, Bae. Castiel, this is my boyfriend Benny."

_ Right, Dean and he had a thing before we met...he's a good guy... _

_...not like me... _

_...he’s the kind of guy a kid like Alfie deserves... _

"If you hurt Dean..." Benny rumbled.

_...but I won't hurt Dean, unless Dean wants to be hurt. _

"I won't."

_ I won't hurt anyone ever again.  _

"You'd better not."

_ And I'm getting help, so I can and will do better. _

"I  _ won't _ ."

Benny's eyes narrowed, assessing, and then he nodded. "Good. Now get outta our sight before Alfie decides I should give you what you got coming."

"Thank you," was the only farewell Castiel could think of, and it felt oddly appropriate. However Benny and Alfie interpreted his appreciation, they said nothing further, and Castiel walked away, a weight lifting from his shoulders.

The last thing Dean had said to him, the night when they were reunited, was that everything was perfect.

That was a bald faced lie. 

Castiel was a long, long way from perfect, and as much as he adored Dean, he could acknowledge - Dean wasn't perfect either.

But everything was good, and getting better.

They were getting better, together.

And that was  _ better  _ than perfect, because it was sustainable, and personal, and real, achingly, wonderfully flawed.

Nothing was perfect.

And Castiel couldn't be happier.


	12. Chapter 12

Anticipation set Dean's skin buzzing as he unlocked Cas' door. They'd been back together for a few weeks, and things were going well - better than he'd dare hope - but they hadn't scened. Cas was definitely planning something; Dean had fielded a few questions on what he was up for - the answer being, literally anything that Cas wanted, which had earned Dean a scowl but was the genuine truth. Dean trusted Cas implicitly, and he could always safe word if somehow Cas did go too far.

It was Friday night.

The odds were good that whatever Cas had in mind would start that evening, and if Dean were lucky, extend all weekend. There'd been a glint to Cas' eye when Dean had left for the shop an hour before Cas had to head to the office. He'd dared to hope Cas would beat him home - Friday's were always long at the mechanic, folks wanting their cars ready before the weekend - but the deadbolt slid open as he turned the key and he knew he was back first.

Fuck.

Waiting would be...

As Dean stepped into the living room, easing the door shut behind him, his eyes fell on the coffee table. A zip-up leather mask lay neatly folded, perfectly centered on the immaculate rectangle. Atop it, a note read, "wear me."

...waiting would be  _ awesome _ .

Eager, Dean ran to the bedroom, peeling off his oily, splotched clothing. Cas’ simple message didn't include further instructions, but Dean couldn't imagine he'd be punished if he inferred  _ naked  _ from context.

_...and if I were punished... _

Working quickly, he stripped and used a cold, wet washcloth to get the worst of the day's filth from his skin. 

_...after everything I've done... _

Cas wouldn't punish Dean if he was naked, but if Cas got home and Dean wasn't wearing the mask?

_...after everything I failed to do... _

Dean worked so quickly that he missed the hamper when he tossed his clothing toward it; he swore under his breath as he bolted across the room, put them in, and ran to the living room. 

_...a little punishment might be in order. _

The air of the room was cool, scrunching up his balls, tightening his dick close to his body, a stimulating contrast to the anticipation arousing him.

_ Fuck that - a  _ lot  _ of punishment is  _ definitely  _ in order. No more of this soft, tender shit Cas has been doing the last couple weeks. Not that it hasnt’ been nice...it was, fuck, just being with him feels incredible...but if I wanted lovey dovey I'd... _

_ I don’t even know. _

_ I’d probably be hitched to Lisa, have 2.5 children, and live in a suburban house with a picket fence. _

_ Bo-ring. _

The zipper of the mask  _ tink, tink, tinked, _ tangling and tearing at Dean's hair. He gritted his teeth through the pain rather than trying to prevent it. The leather was taut against his forehead, padding thick and heavy over his eyes.

_ This is gonna be awesome. _

With the room obscured, Dean stumbled to the couch, banged his knee on the coffee table, and took a seat. His senses narrowed, his awareness contracting to the prickling of goosebumps on his arms and legs, the faintest of breezes stirring his body hair, the thumping of his heart, the rush of air in and out of his lungs, the sweat beading where his skin rubbed the mask’s leather. His awareness expanded, to the whoosh of the central air conditioning, the creak of the sofa beneath him, the hubbub of people passing by on the street far below, the soft  _ drip-drip-drop _ of a leaky faucet somewhere in the apartment. Any sound might presage Cas' return. Any sensation might hold a hint of Dean's fate. Any smell, any taste, might foretell his fate.

_ I hope he spanks me - paddles me - flogs me. _

Something tickled at Dean's nose. He sneezed, a tense muscle in his back tweaked, and he muttered "fuck," stretched, and resumed his position on the couch. His skin pricked, anticipating consequences - as if Cas was even there, as if Dean's behavior had violated a rule, ridiculous - and nothing happened.

_ I hope he shoves a dildo up my ass, pushes a ring down my cock, forces his dick into my mouth, uses me and edges me into oblivion. _

The soft ping of the elevator sounded loud in the apartment and Dean held his breath lest he miss a moment of Cas opening the door, walking in, beholding him...but there was only a click and the soft thud of a door somewhere down the hall clanging shut.

_ I hope he doesn't let me come for a week. _

The longer the wait stretched, the harder it was to keep still. Dean's cock edged toward half-mast, growing thick with each enticing thought, growing flaccid as time passed without a change. The hell did Dean need a dom for? He was doing a damn effective job of edging himself without any help.

Fuck that.

Dean adored, craved,  _ needed  _ a dom.

_ Even if I have to wait a month, it's so much less than I deserve. _

Dean...needed...craved... _ adored _ Castiel.

_ How the hell did he find it in himself to forgive me? _

The bells in the church across the street tolled 7 pm.

_ Probably the same way I found it in me to forgive him. _

_ I'd have forgiven Cas literally anything to have another chance with him. _

_ Dare I believe, trust, that he felt, feels, the same? _

The elevator pinged.

Dean's heart raced pitter-patter.

The locks clicked.

Dean's blinked uselessly, the world pitch black whether his eyes were open or closed.

The door opened with a gust of wind.

Dean's cock twitched.

The door closed with a deep thud and the  _ shing, shing, clang _ of locks sliding into position.

Dean's fingers, legs, ached to fidget.

"Hello, Dean." 

Castiel was there, real, voice low and rough and  _ everything _ .

Dean's thoughts went silent.

"Hey, sir."

Rustles and soft sounds of activity painted an image of the room in Dean's mind's eye, of Castiel removing his trench coat, hanging it in the closet, toeing off his shoes and leaving them in the door, slowly and deliberately going about the rituals of returning home after a long day and a long week.

"You were wise to strip," intoned Castiel, quietly, serenely, profoundly,  _ inconceivably  _ calm sounding. "I should have left more detailed instructions."

"I inferred, sir," Dean replied, shocked at how steady he sounded.  _ So maybe it's not so incredible that Cas sounds calm...if I can sit here and talk like I'm not freaking the fuck out, he could be completely losing it and I'd never be able to tell. _

"That's excellent," said Castiel, the praise sending a tingle of anticipation down Dean's spine.

_ No - no praise, no kind words, no bullshit, sir. Give me what I  _ deserve _. _

"And very good practice for what I have in mind."

Something about Dean's affect must have suggested his confusion, for Castiel clarified, "You'll need to exercise your powers of inference, if we are to execute this evening's activities successfully. Are you ready to hear what I have in mind?"

"Am I?" scoffed Dean.

The slap sounded loud in his ear, for a split second disconnected from the sting of skin on skin, the force that tumbled Dean back on the couch, the pain that settled every quavering nerve.

_ Just like that _ ... Dean couldn't repress a replete sigh.  _ Perfect _ .

"Behave, or you will be made to behave." Castiel still sounded unflappable, and Dean knew,  _ knew _ , that this was going to be an evening for the ages.

_ So, how do I get him to smack me again? _

Dean wished he could see Castiel's face, assess his mood. That Dean would rebel, push the boundaries, court the consequences of misbehavior, was par for the course, but Castiel's expression always spoke volumes about how much tolerance he had for it. At best, Castiel would play a long and delicious game, wonderfully torturing Dean to the edges of ecstasy - and not a millimeter beyond. At worst, Castiel would shut down, ended the scene, sent Dean to bed alone.

That would be a disaster.

Dean needed to walk that line _ just. precisely. right _ . to get what he needed.

"I have a test for you," Castiel explained. "I will present you with ten objects." But Dean couldn't see Castiel's face. "Your job will be to use your senses to determine what each object is." Castiel's voice gave away nothing. "You'll get a point for each object you correctly identify." Castiel's cologne wafted through the air, neutral and uninformative. "I'm not going to tell you what you'll get if you do well..." And Castiel's only touch had been the slap - a sign that he was short on patience, but no hint if Castiel  _ wanted  _ to be short on patience,  _ wanted  _ to punish Dean, or if he found the bucking of his authority impertinent and unacceptable. "...but trust me, you want to do well."

_ Okay, that's definitely his 'I've got something nice for you if you behave' tone of voice. _

The soft whump of Castiel's feet on the carpet spoke to him leaving the room.

_ Good to know. _

Clanks, rattles, tings and bangs signaled his return.

_ I don’t want  _ anything  _ nice from him, not now, until I deserve it. _

Air stirred around Dean and he repressed a shiver.

_ Time to totally bomb this test. _

The mystery objects clattered against the coffee table.

_ Just like high school all over again! _

Half-rising, Dean reached blindly toward the table.

"Keep still," snapped Castiel, something stinging over Dean's knuckles. "I'll pass you the objects." Grimacing, grumpy, Dean settled back. His cock was hard, his hand ached, his cheek still tingling in what he could swear was the precise shape of Castiel's hand. Dammit, Castiel was supposed to slap him again, not rap his hand like some fricken middle American school marm. 

_ Guess I'll just have to try harder. _

"Here," said Castiel, his voice still tinged with a promising snap of anger. He thrust an object into Dean's hands. The texture of leather, supple and smooth, was obvious, some wrapped tight around a hard cylinder, some dangling in thin strips from one end of it.

A flogger.

Obviously.

But what the object actually was, and what Castiel expected from him, and how best to get what Dean needed, demanded three different answers.

And Dean had no idea what the right answer was, in the context of the scene, in the context of Dean’s raw desire to  _ hurt _ . 

He needed more information.

So he set the flogger down in his lap, and waited, grinning cockily.

"Thank you for waiting." Castiel sounded calmer, and Dean gritted his teeth at the discordance of it. "In addition to the overall prize, determined by your score on this quiz, it is in your interest to correctly guess each individual item. For each item you name, you will determine whether or not we use it in the ensuing scene."  _ Oh, so I can get you to whip me silly by simply  _ asking _? _ "For each item you guess incorrectly, _ I _ will decide whether or not we use it during our scene."  _ No, of course it's not that easy. _ "Do you understand?"

_ So the test isn't, 'how many can I get right'...it's, 'how can I play on Cas' mood to get him to maximize my punishments and minimize my rewards, given the ten items in question. _

Grinning, Dean shot Castiel a thumbs up, and basked in the stunned silence that followed and screamed that Castiel could hardly believe Dean's audacity.

_ Hard, when I don't know what the ten objects are. _

_ But I did always love a dom who's a challenge. _

_ I did always love... _

_...oh, fuck me. _

"You may examine the item with any of your senses except sight," Castiel said. "You have one minute."

A timer started,  _ tick, tock, tick, tock _ . 

_ At least it’s not the damn Jeopardy theme. _

_ One minute to decide - do I tell him it's a flogger, and that I want him to use it on me? Is that really punishment, if I'm all, "yes, sir, whip me now?" No. That's pathetic, is what that is. So what if I get it wrong - "obviously it's a Cat O Nine Tails," do I think he'll use it on me? If I piss him off badly enough, he might. But he might not. It depends what else he has in his bag of tricks, and it depends on his mood, and it depends on how I play my hand. If he figures out I want to be punished, then, once again, it's not actually punishment to hurt me, and he'll try to figure our some punishment I  _ don't  _ want. _

_ Well, then, the yoke will be on him, cause I'm down for  _ any  _ punishment right now. _

_ And then there's my last choice, I grin like the devil and tell him it's, I don't even fucking know, a hat or some shit. Something I know, and he knows, is obviously dead wrong. _

_ Then he might not flog me. But he'll know I'm throwing the game. And how he'll respond to that? _

_ I haven't the foggiest. _

_ But I kinda...really...want to find out. _

_ But Cas put work into this scene, put in thought and effort and planning...if I throw that in his face, that’s not right either. I want him to be my dom, and to invest energy in planning the things we do together. If I shut him down completely, that doesn’t send the right message either. _

"10 seconds," said Castiel.

_ Better to play things close to the vest, at least in the beginning. If I simply fail to engage with the scene he'll know what I'm up to and maybe end the quiz, and the scene...completely, and I'll be up shit creek without a paddle, even one taken rough to my ass, so... _

"It's a flail," he said serenely. Close enough to sound like a good faith effort, far enough to be--

"Incorrect," said Castiel, a hint of suspicion in his voice. 

_ Oh, yeah, he knows I've got a game of my own going. I'm gonna have to be so fucking careful... _

"Next item?" Dean said, tossing the flogger aside.

"Address me properly, or be silent," Castiel snapped.

_...for all that he's trying to act all distant and stiff and proper, he's on the edge too, angry, alert... _

"Yes, sir," Dean replied with a petulant twist.

_ Is it wishful thinking to hope that, with some carefully timed willful disobedience, I'll get us what we both want? _

"Item 2," said Castiel. 

The object slid with a dry rustle into Dean's lap, and he set about a good faith show of attempting to figure out what it was. Long...thin...flexible...a clamp on one end.

A fucking leash.

A cascade of memories of his time with Rowena sickened Dean, distracted him, blew away his carefully considered plans, drowned out the _ tick, tock _ of the timer. 

_ No. _

Dean wanted to be punished.

_ No, no, no. _

Really punished.

_ Hell to the n to the o, no. _

_ But doesn’t punishment mean dealing with something I don't want? _

_ I don't care. I don't want...I can't...I... _

"It's a leash," Dean said, pushing it back onto the table in disgust. "Put it away."

"Very well, Dean," Castiel replied placidly.

_ And just that easily, the balance of power shifts back to him. _

_ Did he...could he have planned this? _

_ No way. Impossible. Cas is a clever guy but he can't read my fucking mind, anymore than I can read his and know how best to get a rise out of him. I need to-- _

"Item 3."

The hank of rope couldn't have been more obvious if Castiel had told him what it was.

_ And asking him to tie me up would be totally reasonable, and might tempt him to use that flogger on my back. So-- _

"It's rope."

"What type?"

Fuck, but Castiel sounded utterly self-satisfied, and any doubt that Dean was the only one playing a deeper game went away. 

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" he spluttered, not sure himself if his indignation was feigned. "Sir."

"What is the rope made from?" Castiel enunciated every word, crisp and clear.

"I don't..."

"Do you concede this item?" asked Castiel.

"I...you...fine, yes, I concede this damn item! Rope is rope!"

"Very well." Castiel was all calm serenity, and Dean wanted to scream.

_ And if we are both playing this game, I'm losing. Badly. _

"Fuck you, sir," he growled.

"Oh no." Warmth crowded Dean's cheek, Castiel closing the distance between them, pressing him back against the couch. "As you're behaving today? You will absolutely not be fucking me Dean, not tonight or any night soon."

It was all Dean could do to keep himself from crowing with delight.

He should have trusted Castiel from the word go.

However this game went...Dean was going to get exactly what he needed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I updated the chapter count just cause I think this final scene will be switching PoV more times than I was anticipating.

Brow knit, Castiel watched Dean turn the fourth object over in his hands. As bratty as Dean was behaving, it was impossible to know how he'd react. Castiel had chosen the order of the objects carefully to test Dean's mood, and found him...recalcitrant, rebellious, nigh impossible...and it was thrilling. The test was calibrated to enable Castiel to modify it based on Dean's responses, and turning Dean's brattiness around on him, demanding a material for the rope, was a pointed reminder that if Dean was too difficult, there would be consequences.

Dean was obviously courting those consequences.

And, to his surprise, Castiel found he was increasingly in the mood to mete those consequences out.

So he'd passed Dean the last truly easy test item - a fat dildo with a suction cup on one end - and set the timer to ninety seconds instead of a minute without telling Dean about the change. Let him stew, and wonder; let his sense of time get skewed.

And now Castiel waited, and simmered.

Underneath how much he'd missed Dean, Castiel was angry. His first two talks with Dr. Barnes had made that clear, but more than that, the conversations with a neutral third party had helped Castiel see he had a right to be angry. Two years ago, Castiel had asked an innocent question and had asked nothing in return save a yes or no. Dean had thrown that question in his face, behaved abominably, had refused to trust Castiel by saying  _ no _ , and had shattered Castiel in the process. Not that Castiel had been blameless, far from, but Castiel also didn't bear all the blame, no matter what reprobation he'd heaped on himself since his temper had first gotten the better of him and he’d roared for Dean to get out of his apartment and his life. Absorbed in blaming himself, in guilt and shame, Castiel had turned that anger on himself. In the past few weeks, he'd processed that...but the anger he'd felt toward Dean and never faced remained.

Castiel  _ wanted  _ to punish Dean.

And, judging by Dean's answers, judging by his backtalk, judging by his smirk as he held the dildo and said nothing...Dean wanted to be punished, too.

"Five seconds, Dean."

"Longest minute ever," Dean grumbled, poking at the thick cockhead of the toy. "It's a dildo. Duh. Sir."

"Be specific."

And Dean grinned.

And the timer went off.

And he said nothing more, tossing the dildo to his side as if it were valueless. With an angry growl, Castiel lunged forward and caught the expensive toy, whipped around and slammed the silicone cock across Dean's check. A stunned squawk escaped Dean and he tumbled to the couch, bare limbs sprawling, erection sticking up obscenely.

"You will treat my belongings as you treat my person, with respect."

"Yes, sir."

_ So sullen. So grumpy. But if Dean didn't want to play this game, if he didn't want to scene - he could end this any time. He didn't have to put the blindfold on. He didn't have to wait for me so dutifully, so beautifully naked, leaving an imprint of his ass crack on my couch. He didn't have to play along once we started, didn't have to reject the leash, didn't have to push the bounds of disobedience. _

Castiel set the dildo aside, looked over the remaining six objects, and carefully picked up the delicate chains of the nipple clamps, dangling them between his fingers so they wouldn't tangle.

_ He could safe word. _

"Ready for the next one?"

_ And instead he accepts the test, just barely, just slightly. _

"Whenever you are."

_ This is going better than I ever dreamed. _

"Lift up your hands and spread out your fingers."

Dean obeyed, and Castiel draped the gleaming metal over his hands. The mask covered Dean's forehead, eyes, and nose, rendering his expressions difficult to read, but judging by his moue, Castiel had stumped him for the first time. Better yet, despite the cockiness yet obvious in Dean's posture, he was taking the test seriously, rubbing the links between the pads of his fingers, exploring the rings and facets and pincer clamps by touch.

"It's a..."

_ If he answers, and answers correctly, does that mean he wants me to use them on him, or no? I thought he wanted punishment, but then he answered the flogger wrong...when he knows that, if he had answered correctly, he could have demanded that I use it on him… _

_...but, then, if it’s his choice to use it, because he  _ wants  _ it to be used, does that count as punishment? Or is it only punishment if he gives me the choice and I opt to whip him black and blue? _

_ It's so hard to guess. He's so hard to read, and it's glorious... _

"Nipple clamps?" asked Dean, like he was genuinely curious, and genuinely wanted to know.

Controlling his reaction - not a hint, not a sound to betray whether Dean had answered correctly or incorrectly - Castiel took the nipple clamps and their connecting chain and set them beside the leash, Dean’s only correct guess, opposite the items that Dean had guessed wrong.

The items passed more quickly after that - or perhaps Castiel settled enough into his mindset, and Dean into is, that the delay became meaningless. Where before, it felt like Dean procrastinated, purposefully delayed and obfuscated, now the give-and-take of offered items and delayed replies were simply more aspects of the game of chess they played. Dean was, as always, a formidable opponent. He failed to guess the fleshlight, as obvious as it was, but seemed genuinely stumped by the anal stretcher. His incorrect attempt to name the prostate stimulator seemed like a good faith effort, unlike his take on the ring gag, which he felt up, held up to his mouth, and then brazenly declared was a ball gag. Of 9, Dean had only gotten two right - the leash and the clamps - and Castiel had deliberately saved the best for last.

_ Or the worst, depending how things go... _

Fool that he'd been, Castiel had been so certain that Dean would be willing to move in with him - they'd practically been living together anyway - that he'd ordered Dean a housewarming gift: a posture bar with gorgeous, custom-tooled wrist cuffs and collar. 

It had arrived two weeks after Dean had left for good.

Castiel had shoved it in the closet, still in the packaging it had shipped in, and tried to never look at it, never think of it, never remember all the hope it had embodied.

But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of it, either.

He'd finally found the nerve to open it the previous weekend.

It was even nicer than he'd remembered, nicer than he'd fantasized when he'd look at the photographs on the website. The lustrous leather would look gorgeous against Dean’s ruddy arms and neck. The metal would gleam, juxtaposed over the pale skin of Dean’s belly.

_ No conditions, this time. Not a gift, not a reward for moving in, not a tit-for-tat. Just something lovely I share with him, because I care for him, and I ask nothing in return. _

_ Well, nothing beyond what the scene demands, anyway. _

_ But will Dean guess it? And if he does, will he want to wear it? _

_ Or have I read him wrong, misjudged his desires again, substituted what I want for what he wants for the umpteenth time? _

Resetting the timer, Castiel took up the bar, ran a loving hand over the metal length, and passed it over.

Dean seized it roughly, and only as his fingers touched the bar, ran over the buttery leather, did his touch grow reverent. Catching his lip between his teeth, Dean considered, and touched, considered, and touched, and Castiel  _ watched _ .

Experimentally, Dean lay one wrist in an open cuff. A slow sigh lowered his shoulders, deflated him against the couch, and the for the first time since the scene began - for the first time in  _ days  _ \- Dean seemed relaxed, ready, entirely present in the moment.

It was time.

Dean was ready.

They were both ready.

"I have no idea what it this is," said Dean defiantly. "Sir."

"That's too bad." 

_ It's not - it's amazing. He's so amazing. I've missed him so much. _

"But I very much look forward to seeing how you intend to use it," Dean added. Gently, sparing one final pet for the solid metal length, Dean passed the posture bar back.

"Do you, now?" asked Castiel, unable to keep a smug note from his voice. The hard part of the scene was over. Now the fun could begin, and the anticipation Castiel had kept at bay for days while he'd planned and prepared unfurled within him, heating his gut, stiffening his erection.

The timer rang, harsh and metallic. 

"You're out of time, Dean."

"And?" he challenged.

"Are you ready to know what comes next?" Serenity made Castiel's voice even, soft, low. This felt so good, so  _ right _ . They were going to have a glorious night, a spectacular weekend, a sublime week. Castiel had days to remind Dean what had brought them together, to demonstrate to Dean why he should stay. Even when Monday came, when they both returned to work, Castiel had a week to work through his anger, to see Dean suffer and repent, to hear him beg.

"Don't pretend I've got a say," scoffed Dean.

"You do," Castiel said. "On exactly two objects. So - leash, yes or no?"

"Fuck no," Dean answered so quickly his words overlapped the end of Castiel's sentence. There was something more there, something troubling - something Castiel would need to know, going forward, but mid-scene wasn't the moment to find out. If this went well... _ when _ this went well...it would be cathartic, a true relaunch of their relationship. With that release behind them, they could sit down once more with their kink lists, renegotiate their boundaries in light of what they'd both experienced the last two years, find a new "normal" between them.

And then they could see where things went from there. 

The sky was the limit. 

_ Forever is the limit, and is all I want. It's not so much to ask, right? _

"You hear me, Cas? Sir? No leash!"

_ It will be, if I don't focus and treat him right. Like by answering him, acknowledging him, letting him know I won’t cross his stated boundaries. _

"Of course not, Dean. What about the nipple clamps?"

"Uh..." Dean grimaced. "Do I have to decide right now?"

"Yes."

"But I still don't know what the fuck you're up to - how can I say?"

"Fair point," conceded Castiel. "Ten items. Ten days between now and next Sunday. If you'd guessed them all correctly? I'd have let you come today."

"You asked me  _ what type of rope _ ," growled Dean.

"True." Castiel couldn't keep an easy, broad smile from his lips. "You were never going to come tonight, but surely you expected that?" Dean harrumphed his agreement. "You also didn't try very hard at my test, despite knowing that it would be in your best interest to strive for an A+, now did you?"

"I don't know what you mean," muttered Dean, scowling. 

Taking up the flogger, Castiel flicked his wrist just hard enough to bring it down with a  _ snap, sting _ on Dean's bared thigh. Dean hissed. "You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean. Don’t lie to me, boy. You threw the exam. There are consequences for such behavior. There are always consequences. Eight wrong. Eight days. Do you think you can do that?"

"The fuck kinda question is that?" Dean rubbed at the reddened lines raising as welts against his pale skin.

_ Any novice would touch themselves like that to try to ease the pain, but Dean knows better, and Dean knows  _ I _ know better, that what's he's doing will only make it hurt worse. _

_ He wants to hurt. _

"I used to go way more than 8 days for you."

_ He wants me to hurt him. _

"You think I've gone soft? You think Rowena was soft with me?"

_ Challenge accepted. _

"I don't know what to think," Castiel replied mildly. "You were wearing a cage, after all...you've changed, Dean."

Dean recoiled from the words more violently than he had from Castiel's blow. "You son of a bitch..."

"Language," snapped Castiel, flicking the flogger against him harder. 

"...fuckin'  _ hell _ ..."

"Now you know." Stern, blissful, God, Castiel felt  _ good _ . "That's the game.” Yes, they'd both changed, but Dean was still Dean, and while they were together, Castiel felt like himself again. "Eight days.” He felt like a dom: confident, sure of himself, sure of his sub. “Eight toys for me to use on you however I want." With Dean, and with no one else, Castiel could be this strong, this cold, this invested, this hot, this angry. "Eight nights before I'll let you come." Castiel was in control, of Dean, of himself. "And hell to pay if you spurt one  _ second  _ before I say you may."

Castiel knew that Dean could end things any time he wanted.

Castiel knew that Dean  _ would  _ end things, if he needed to.

Castiel knew that every word Dean said, every action he took, every act of defiance, was intentional.

They were in this scene  _ together _ , and it was going to be an  _ amazing  _ eight days.

"So - what about the nipple clamps?" Castiel repeated.

Silence.

_ Or I'm wrong. Or I've misread everything. Or I've made assumptions, that because I want to hurt him, he wants to hurt. If he rejects the toy - if he suggests he doesn't want-- _

"Use 'um."

_ Or I nailed it. _

"How?"

_ Awesome. _

"Fuck you, sir - you tell me, that's the whole damn point!"

"No, Dean." Castiel trailed the ends of the flogger over Dean's quad, along the cut line where his hip met his pelvis, over his stiff dick. "Those weren't the rules. You guessed the item correctly. You tell me - how will we use the clamps?" A bead of pre-come caught on the leather and smeared, glimmering over skin, as Castiel teased along Dean's unmarred inner thigh.

Dean bit his lip. Even without considering his dick, Dean's arousal was writ all over his body. His arms trembled. His muscles were taut. Red flush spread down his cheeks. His stiff nipples stood at attention.

_ And they'd look so beautiful clamped...I wonder if he'd let me take a picture? _

"Could I..." Dean croaked.  _ He only ever sounds that way when he's asking for something he really, really wants, when he's asking for something he's worried I'll deny him _ . "Could I wear 'um to work? Sir? Like...on Monday? Or...or maybe every day?"

_ Oh. _

_ Oh, wow. _

“Please?”

A wash of arousal - no, adoration, that was definitely pure, unadulterated  _ love _ choking Castiel up - swept through Castiel, so powerful his vision swam.

_ He wants them with him - wants, indirectly,  _ me  _ with him, throughout the day, even when we're apart. _

_ That's... _

"Yes," Castiel responded, his throat going dry.

"Thank you, sir," Dean whispered, with utter sincerity.  _ There he is. There's my beautiful, obedient, oh-so-naughty boy. I had to drag all the snark out of him, had to get him buried in this scene, but I finally found him.  _ "Thank you."  _ And he’s perfect. _

"And are you ready to learn how I plan to use the other items?" Castiel's heartbeat thudded in his ears. Desire burned under his skin, ached in his dick.

"You kiddin'?" Dean smirked, all cocky assurance again, all confidence and preparedness, vulnerability masked once again. "I was  _ born  _ ready."

"I will make you eat those words."

"Better make me eat  _ something _ . Your dick sounds good..."

Examining the options arrayed before him, Castiel tucked the flogger into his elbow and took up the rope, the anal stretcher, and the fleshlight.

"That's for me to decide, and you to accept when the moment comes," he said tenderly. "Now, get to my bedroom."

"I'm still blindfolded!"

"Is that how you answer a clear command? Get. to. my. bedroom."

"Yes, sir."

"Good job, boy. I'll make an adequate sub outta you yet."

"Yes. Sir."


	14. Chapter 14

The snap of the flogger was loud in Dean's ear, the sound reverberating a heartbeat before the agony wracked him. With a pained cry, Dean tried to writhe against the bed, but the ropes tying his wrists and ankles held him fast, gave his torso room to wiggle while providing him no actual escape. Hemp dug into his flesh, waves of pain tingling to the tips of his fingers, rebounding back to combine with the sting and burn in his back. Castiel didn't call out a count, and Dean had lost track of how many strikes had fallen. Only Castiel's labored breathing spoke to the effort he expended, the arousal it brought him - brought them  _ both _ : undeniably, the heat scorching Dean came only in part from pain. Dean's dick rubbed against the towel that Castiel had laid down on the bed, inadequate stimulation layering sensation fathoms deep as Castiel brought the flogger down again, hard. 

Dean screamed, a sob catching in his throat.

Oh, fuck, but that hurt so  _ good _ .

"Dean?" 

_ Don't you dare take me out of this moment, not now, not like this, this is-- _

_ \--use your words, Winchester! He can’t give me what I need if I don’t communicate! _

"More!" he gasped, the word garbling on another sob. His skull was too small for his brain, his mind throbbing with pain and satisfaction and bliss and need. "More, please - more, sir." Castiel's gasp seemed soft, but for Dean to hear it over the sound of his own breathing, his racing heart, his screaming thoughts, it must have been damn loud. Another blow landed, low on his back, tendrils of leather biting at the curve of Dean's spine and at his exposed ass. 

"More - more - more - more..."

And Castiel gave him more, more and more.

_ So good. _

The blows came faster, harder, scattered over his backside, his legs, his shoulders, his arms, his sides. The hood around his head sweltered, soaked with sweat and tears, as Dean's head twisted against the pillow inadequately supporting him. Castiel struck his spine, his shoulder, the sensitive spot where his neck met his back; Castiel struck his ass, right over his crack, along his thighs, ignited agony on the bottoms of his feet. Dean sobbed, desperate to lift himself into each strike, desperate for Castiel to stop, desperate for the next whipping blow that would punish him, elate him, disembody him. Through thick gunk and spit coating his mouth, through tears and mucus covering his face, he begged for more - or maybe that was only in his head, maybe nothing intelligible could escape the thunder in his brain.

It hurt. so. bad.

It.

Was.

So.

Good.

The absence of the next blow was more excruciating than the strike would have been. Dean howled, back arching, thrashing as he struggled futilely to rise. The tear of the ropes at his skin couldn't begin to compare, but he pulled anyway, tugged, desperate for another blow, desperate for any touch. 

"Shh..." Castiel fucking  _ dared  _ to try to soothe him with a word. Dean hissed fury, but then a hand fell on the strained skin of his shoulder, a thumb pushed hard into his soft palate, and, fuck, that was what Dean needed. With a whimper, he deflated as Castiel rubbed, rubbed, rubbed, extracting an excruciating burn from tortured flesh, drawing pleasure from amidst the pain. Slowly, breath by strained breath, Dean's urgency unwound, his desperation eased.

He'd taken as much as he could sustain.

He felt wretched, and wonderful.

Castiel was still there.

And Dean was still bound.

They weren't done yet.

With a final dig of nail against sensitive skin, Castiel's hand left Dean's chin, the other continuing to pet, pet, pet down Dean's back. The rattle in Dean's ears faded, the rush of blood dulled, and his thoughts went mute. There was nothing but the bed and terry cloth beneath him, the cool rush of air over his aching skin, the solidity of the Castiel's hand working at his skin...

...the soft squirt of a bottle...

...the tickling push of a finger against his hole...

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean bit his tongue against a gasp. The flogger had struck his ass - once, twice, more, counting had been impossible - and touch over the vulnerable flesh stung, pain and tingling pleasure seeping through him, somehow distinct from the frought strain of his back and limbs. Cool and wet, the finger pressed in, smearing lubricant with gentle touches. Castiel pulled out, spread more lubricant over Dean's rim, and then fucked the finger in and out, in and out, until there was no catch, no friction, just smooth insertion over and over and over and--

A hand smacked Dean's ass. "Stop," snapped Castiel. Whimpering confusion, Dean wiggled, and Castiel slapped him again. "Keep still."

He'd been rocking up against Castiel's finger.

He hadn't even  _ realized _ .

Keeping still required him to inhabit his body, to  _ feel  _ more completely. He hurt, from head to toe, from hip to shoulder, from knee to elbow to neck. The bliss promised by Castiel's finger was tantalizing, inadequate, made Dean's insides liquid with pain and pleasure and desire. His hard cock rubbed against the towel, tickling, and it was all Dean could do not to squirm.

Castiel's hand left Dean's back.

Castiel's finger left Dean's ass.

Castiel's weight shifted from off the bed.

Sadness and deprivation shuddered through Dean. It would be so much like Castiel to stop there, to leave Dean hard and aching and empty and sad and teased. It would be punishment, above and beyond the promise that Dean wouldn't be coming for a week.

He should -  _ he should go, leave me, no after care 'til the scene is done next Sunday, no orgasms, no reprieve, just me alone in this enormous, cold, lonely bed with every twinge of agony I've earned time and time over... _

Footsteps fwumped soft over the carpet, growing softer as Castiel moved farther and farther away.

_...no, no! Please don't go, sir - please don't leave me alone. _

Castiel was gone.

_ I can't lose you again - not for a night, not for an hour, not for a minute. _

Fear and loss screamed in Dean's head. The flogger could have whip-cracked over his back and he wouldn't have been able to hear it over the noise of his thoughts, wouldn't have been able to feel it over the pain of his isolation.

_ Don't-- _

A hand smacked his ass.

A toy pushed, pushed, then popped into his hole.

Another hand urged up against Dean's hip, nudging him off the bed; Dean obeyed, joints shrieking agony as he pulled strained limbs against his bindings. His cock dangled free, achingly neglected, until...

...there was another squirt of lube...

...and something nudged at the head of his cock, pushed, pushed...and Dean slid into something wet and frigid. Gasping, he plummeted to the bed, remembering only when Castiel smacked his back that he was supposed to keep still.

_ What...how...what were the toys? What was in the test? He's used the rope, the flogger, but... _

Fingers pressed Dean's ass cheeks apart, nudged at the toy, twisted and adjusted it.

_...there was a plug, and-- _

With a hum, vibration erupted around Dean's dick.

_...and a fleshlight. _

Exquisite pleasure buzzed through Dean's cock, through his flesh, manifested as twinkling lights against his eyelids.

_ Oh. _

The toy settled, inadequate, in his ass, and then moved, though Castiel's hands were off it. It unfolded, stretched within him - Dean couldn't say if it was twisting, or vibrating, or fucking him, or what, only that something firm now pressed, steadily, against his prostate, and it was glorious.

_ My. _

Castiel's weight settled over his ass, pushing the plug into his ass, pushing the fleshlight against his cock. Hands wrapped around his aching shoulders and rubbed. Pain ignited under his unkind, perfect touch.

_ God. _

Dean was  _ gone _ . He wasn't a body, wasn't flesh and blood; he was a wavelength of feelings, riding the high ebb of pain, the low tide of bliss. The counterpoint was endless, enticing, the perfect balance to keep him from sobbing, keep him from coming. 

"Do. Not. Come."

As if there was any danger of that! Castiel played him like a musical instrument, knowing precisely how to strum his back to tingle grounding agony through him, precisely how to modulate the fleshlight to stimulate his dick to the edge of torture, precisely how to rut against his ass to shove the hard lip of the toy against his ass.

Castiel was  _ perfect _ , and under his ministrations, Dean felt perfect. The feeling went on and on, until it grew familiar, until it grew comforting, until, incongruously, it turned  _ restful _ . Dean was lulled, his essence a finely tuned orchestra of inflamed passions. Castiel was a conductor, a virtuoso...

...Castiel was his dom...

_...and what about him? Will he come? Will he use me? Will he ride me? Will he...? _

Fuck, but the day, the week, the month had been exhausting. Dean felt like he'd been going non-stop, overwrought since the moment Rowena taunted Castiel at the Club, waiting for something...waiting for  _ this _ ...and now he could finally rest.

Except he couldn't yet.

Castiel's cock rested, hard, hot, at some point bared to lay against the small of Dean’s back though Dean could yet feel the rough wool of Castiel's dress pants against his hips.

Dean couldn't relax, couldn't give in to Castiel's tortuous succor.

"It's okay," Castiel murmured, breathing sultry into Dean's ear.

Because Dean had to make Castiel feel an iota as good as Dean did.

"Please..." Dean breathed.

Castiel's hands stilled on his shoulders. His hips stopped rolling against Dean's ass, stopped pushing at the toy. The fleshlight stopped vibrating. Dean shivered, his insides, his  _ soul _ , atingle. 

"What do you need?" Castiel's voice was husky, as heavy as Castiel's weight atop him.

It was hard to think, hard to focus, hard to do anything but feel amidst the cacophony of varied feelings encompassing him, but Dean did need...

...he needed...

...so badly...

"You..." Dean's throat was dry, his voice hoarse. He swallowed and tried again. "Come, sir? Not - not me," he added hastily. "Feel you...do I..." He swallowed again. "Do I make you feel good, sir?"

A guttural groan shuddered through Castiel.

"Dean..."

Castiel's hips rolled, dragging Castiel's cock over the small of Dean's back, slotting it against Dean's crack. "So good," Castiel ground out. The lubricant smeared around the base of the plug, along the seam of his cheeks, smoothed the way as Castiel rocked back and thrust forward. Weight pressed at the plug, pressed at Dean's prostate. Castiel's palms dug into Dean's shoulders. Castiel's dick slid, so solid, so grounding, along Dean's crack.

Thrust.

Castiel groaned, rocked back, rocked forward.

Thrust.

Every push knocked at Dean, shoved his body, strained him against his bindings, nudged him within the fleshlight, pushed at his channel, pressed pain into his shoulders.

Thrust.

Castiel moved, using him, mumbling deep, incoherent bliss into the curve of Dean's neck.

Thrust.

They moved  _ together _ , Castiel the bowstring to his violin, their bodies making perfect, soothing music.

Thrust.

Dean rocked, the bed rocked, the world swayed like the bow playing a gentle lullaby against his skin, within his very being.

Thrust.

With a shudder, Castiel came, his semen shooting along Dean's spine, pooling gooey and hot and wet in the divot at the small of Dean's back.

Castiel went limp atop him.

Dean went soft and pliant against the bed.

He'd made Castiel come. 

He didn't need Castiel's voice rough his ear whispering, "perfect," to know that he'd done well.

But hearing it was still amazing.

With a final, replete sigh, Dean went soft and he drifted.

His work here was done, and he could finally rest.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up six months late with porn* Hey guys, sorry. I'm gonna finish this now...
> 
> (this fic was a lesson to me on why trying to live write long fic with a lot of porn while chasing my then 18 month year old around a playground was a bad idea...I don't like the results, really kinda want to rewrite the whole damn thing...and also I was uncomfortable writing in those settings for obvious reasons. Since I had the big almost four years ago, it's been a never ending cycle of trying to find a way to write that actually works with my schedule, that I'm comfortable with, in a setting and at a time when my brain can actually focus to make words. I think I've *finally* got something, and I expect it'll work until June when the big finished his first year of PK, and then everything will go to shit again for the summer. Sigh.)

Tearing himself from Dean's side long enough to prepare the bathroom for the next part of their scene was a wrench. Usually, when Castiel set Dean to cleaning, it was an opportunity for Castiel to do happily do something else - work, or watch TV, or prepare himself for sex, or whatever else caught his fancy. But for the past three hours, Dean had made his awkward way around Castiel's apartment, posture bar preventing him from bending, neck clad in thick, sumptuous leather, the rope burns on his wrists covered by the cuffs, and he was  _ mesmerizing _ . There was nothing in the world Castiel wanted to do more than watch. It was like a dance, how Dean, naked, contorted to pick things up, twisted to wipe countertops, maneuvered to dust shelves. He stood on his tiptoes, head held awkwardly back, eyes fixed forward, to vacuum. He bent at an uncomfortable angle to get the lint from the dryer trap. He wiggled...just to wiggle, Castiel thought, just to set his dick to swaying, just to tingle pain through the still-red skin of his back, just to entice Castiel. 

God, Dean was  _ beautiful _ .

Castiel could spend a lifetime staring and never get enough.

But the house was nearly clean, and the arousal that had simmered through Castiel for hours demanded attention. The bathroom was pristine - the movements Dean had done to scrub the toilet had been particularly obscene - and Castiel's plan would soil it thoroughly.

Maybe, when they were done, he'd soak in the tub and admire as Dean cleaned it anew.

Kneeling, Castiel measured the height where he'd need to suction cup the dildo to the wall, then placed the toy, drenching it in lube. His thick bath mat went over the ceramic floor tiles to protect his knees, and a wedge pillow went atop that, to prop Dean up to the perfect height. The ring gag awaited at the head of the pillow. The bullet vibrator, he stashed in his pocket; he wasn't sure yet if he'd use it.

_ Depends how Dean reacts - depends how close to the edge I can get him without using it. _

Dean's comportment the previous night had been...sublime. 

_ Because I want him right on the edge of orgasm. _

But Castiel knew Dean well, and didn't think Dean had ever been in  _ actual _ danger of coming.

_ I want him to  _ work _ to keep himself from climaxing. _

Today would be different.

_ I want him sobbing and begging. _

Everything was ready.

_ And I want to relish telling him  _ no.

"Come, Dean" he called, resisting the urge to pat his knee like he was summoning a favorite pet. Shuddering with anticipation, he rubbed his sweaty palms over his pants. He wouldn't be naked - Dean hadn't earned Castiel’s nudity yet, not even close - but he fully acknowledged that his dress pants, and likely also his shirt and vest, would be utterly ruined by this scene.

_ Just like Dean will be ruined by this scene. Just like  _ I’ll  _ be ruined by this scene. _

"In a moment," Dean replied saucily.

_ Another task for after - I bet washing my slacks in the sink, while still bound, would pose an interesting challenge for Dean. _

"Now, boy."

_ And with that attitude? He deserves an interesting challenge or five. _

"Yes, sir."

Dean demonstrated his obedience by trotting down the hall a moment later, stopping in the doorway. His smirk fell away as he observed the dildo on the wall, and his shoulders slumped.

_ What a beautiful, disappointed grimace, the precise moment when he realizes that, yet again, I won't be allowing him to fuck me. _

Castiel dropped to his knees, lowered his pants to his thighs, straddled the head of the angled pillow, and took up the ring gag.

"Lie down," he commanded. 

The alacrity with which Dean obeyed was immensely satisfying, warming Castiel to full hardness. Dean dropped to his knees, twisted, struggling to turn comfortably while still bound by the posture bar. He shifted one way, then another, and Castiel tsked, glaring. Dean’s saw his expression and his throat bobbed with a frightened swallow,. Forehead scrunched up, lips puckered, Dean threw himself down, shoulder striking the pillow, and wiggled into position, head at the top of the pillow, ass on the base of the pillow, legs tucked against the bathroom’s far wall, eyes staring up at Castiel's exposed dick.

"Lift your head and open your mouth."

Dean obeyed, so beautiful, accommodating Castiel as he slipped the clasp of the ring gag into place behind his head, secured it, and positioned the ring. Dean’s pinks lips spread into a perfect, enticing O. 

_ Now, to find out if this ridiculous position will even work... _

Shimmying back, Castiel positioned himself so the thick, slickened head of the dildo pushed at his hole. Looking down, his cock dangled over Dean's forehead. 

_...even if it doesn't, it'll still be great... _

"Move back." His voice was hoarse with anticipation, guttural with arousal, and Dean shivered.

_...but I really,  _ really _ hope it will work... _

Dean pushed at the wall with his heels, nudging himself into position. The bathmat and pillow slid over the tiled floor, but Dean's forehead tangled in Castiel's barely lowered pants. With another annoyed sound, Castiel shoved his pants down to the floor around his knees, and Dean slid back another inch...Castiel's dick bumped his nose...another inch...Dean's rushed breaths tickled his balls...

"A little more..."

Troubled disagreement hummed in Dean's throat.

Castiel glanced back.

Dean’s forehead was against the wall.

Grumbling, Castiel shifted for a better view. If he positioned Dean farther up the pillow, with his head dangling off...it would be a lot of strain for Dean, but it would also achieve the necessary angle...

_...I'll have to be quick... _

_...which will preclude edging him to oblivion... _

There was no decision, really. Castiel could edge Dean anytime. But fucking himself on a dildo while sliding into the wet heat of Dean's mouth? Priceless, and something he desperately wanted right. the fuck. now. With quick, powerful shoves and pulls, he positioned Dean, settled back against the dildo, took a deep breath...

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, forehead bumping tiles.

_ Am _ I _ ready? _

The dildo nudged at his ass. His dick nudged at Dean's lips. His eyes raked down Dean's body - his collared neck, the bar perfectly aligned between his nipples and over his belly, his wrists bound at his navel, his dick sticking up obscenely...

_ I am  _ so ready _. _

Closing his eyes, Castiel pushed back against the dildo. It slid over his hole, and he wiggled and tried again, wiggled and tried again, until it finally caught on his rim. A groan ground in his throat as it nudged an inch into him, but as much as he craved it, he paused, got a hand on his dick, got another hand on Dean's face. He should open his eyes, use sight to line himself up, but he couldn’t force himself to do so. He wanted to preserve that perfect mental image of Dean open and ready for him, wanted to focus on everything he was about to feel and everything he was about to make Dean feel. He blindly ran a thumb around the circle of the ring gag, over the curve of Dean's lip, and slid his dick in. As carefully as he'd gamed the angles, he still only could get about an inch of his cock into Dean's mouth while still keeping the toy in his ass, at least while he was upright.

_...but if I bend... _

Carefully, oh so carefully, keeping a hand on Dean's face to be sure he didn't smother Dean with his thighs, Castiel leaned forward. The dildo slid further into his body. His dick slid further into Dean's mouth. Dean's fingers scrambled at Castiel’s neck, the bar pressing uncomfortably into Castiel's torso...

...and his lips found Dean's dick.

Dean choked on a desperate inhale.

Fuck, but they fit together perfectly. This position was so absolutely absurd that it shouldn't even be possible, and instead if it was astonishingly amazing.

Shuddering, Castiel eased back against the dildo until it completely filled him. Sad whimpers leaked from Dean Castiel’s movements caused his cock to slide out of Dean's mouth, but Castiel laved his tongue over Dean's cock and Dean choked on the sad noises.

_ No more of that, boy. I have better uses for your mouth than bullshit complaints. _

Castiel thrust forward and bliss ignited throughout him, incandescent. His body came off the cock as his dick plunged into Dean's mouth, so hot, so humid, so perfect. His lips sucked at Dean's cock, an ideal focus to make sure that he didn't forget, in his rapture, that his primary job was to take care of his sub, to make sure Dean wasn't suffocating, wasn't discomforted, wasn't injured. Dean gagged around him, tongue lapping at the top of Castiel's cock, throat fluttering and teasing at him, and Castiel needed more. He thrust back, filling himself, oh  _ hell _ that was good, and then forward again, and thank god for Dean's dick heavy against his lips because otherwise he would have been lost. There were no commands, no orders, no focusing on anything except how glorious it felt to be filled at both ends while his cock bathed in Dean's mouth.

Pre-come diffused over his tongue, and Castiel sucked, seeking more, seeking proof that Dean was as turned on as Castiel was. His hips moved almost of their own accord, working back, thrusting forward. Small sounds leaked from Dean, needy, breathy, aroused but not distressed, reassuring Castiel that he did no harm, vibrating bliss through his dick. His entire lower body was liquid with ecstasy. With his head bobbing over Dean's cock, his ass moving in rhythm, he could almost imagine he rode his sub, almost imagine Dean filled him, but with the added glory of that sinful mouth working over him. 

"Perfect, Dean," he gasped out, lifting his mouth to speak, dropping back down to take Dean deep. He tasted glorious, musky, a little sweet, and Castiel swallowed, eager for more. Dean echoed the swallow, mirrored it, working as desperately as the gag allowed him to as he encouraged Castiel deeper, harder, faster. 

_ Want him in me so badly... _

_...I could have him, if I really wanted - I could surge off this toy, pivot, embed his saliva-soaked dick in my hold, God, it'd be so easy, it'd feel so good... _

With a broken sound, Dean thrust up, the posture bar digging painfully into Castiel's chest, his dick hitting the back of Castiel's palate. With a snarl, Castiel sat back on his heels.

"Don't you dare," he hissed, and Dean's pained, deprived noises were delicious as they danced and teased over Castiel's cock. Castiel's hips didn't stop working - couldn't stop working - he needed to fill, needed to be filled. Dean’s dick bobbed, glistening with spit and pre-come in the bright bathroom lights, his hips rocking up despite the quaver of muscles struggling to keep him still. Images of Dean working throughout his house - images of Dean, so obedient, so gorgeous, the previous night - filled Castiel's mind.

_ He's mine -  _ actually _ mine,  _ willingly _ mine - not a dream, not an illusion, but so present and hot and invested and... _

Leaning down once more, Castiel nipped at the head of Dean's cock. Dean howled, and Castiel bit again, then licked, and bit. Dean's sobs were as delicious as his pre-release, his choking gasps incredible around Castiel’s cock. Bliss dazzled Castiel's eyelids, tingled through the aching arms supporting his weight, expanded molten outward from where the dildo rubbed at his channel, and Dean's tongue teased at his dick. Desperate, close to coming, Castiel surged back, filling himself to the hilt, the movement pulling his mouth off Dean's dick. Dean hitched a distressed sound, hips bucking up to follow. Forcing his eyes open, he took in Dean's flushed skin, his reddened cock, the angry marks left on Dean's cock by Castiel's bites, the mingled spit and thin release pooled in his pubic hairs. Dean's dick twitched, eager, needy -  _ he still wants me, even now, after the bites, after how I'm treating him, how I'm using him… _

_...he's mine, and I am so completely, utterly, gloriously his. _

A groan, torn from his soul, as close to a declaration of love as Castiel could bring himself to, burbled out of his throat. His head dropped, sweaty, nuzzling alongside Dean's beautiful cock; his dick buried deep in Dean's mouth, and with a sigh and a soft kiss to the trunk of that amazing erection, Castiel spurted down Dean's throat. Dean gasped, choking, coughing around him, but he didn't move, didn't tap out, didn't retreat. His cock nudged again at Castiel's lips, and a second shock of rapture tensed Castiel as he released more.

_...want to stay right here, want to fill his mouth until he can't take any more, want him desperate and sobbing and hurting and punished and contrite and unsatisfied and-- _

_ No! _

With a monumental effort of will, Castiel pulled himself off the dildo, pulled himself from Dean's mouth, and tumbled to his side on the hard floor. The side of the bathtub supported his back, cold and achingly solid. 

Dean sprawled, shivering, spluttering, sweaty and flushed. He tried to wiggle, to shift into a more comfortable position, but the posture bar prevented him; his throat worked, worked, but he couldn't catch his breath, and--

"Shit!"

Moving as quickly as the afterglow allowed him to, Castiel surged up, gathered Dean in his arms, pulled him upright. His fingers fumbled to unclasp the ring gag as he maneuvered Dean into a more comfortable position.

"Breathe," he urged, massaging gently at Dean's throat. Rough coughs spoke to damage to Dean's throat and splattered spit and come onto the floor. "I've got you - sorry, so sorry, but that was...that was..."

"Great," croaked Dean, and Castiel's concerns dissipated. "Fuck, that was good, Castiel...sir...right?"

"Yes, Dean," he said warmly. "It was excellent." With a deep breath, Castiel eased back against the tub, eased Dean back against him. Dean yet shuddered, his cock still spitting pre-release as they both came down from the high. There was a catch in Dean's throat with every exhale, and it wasn't until he eased, until he calmed, that Castiel finally allowed himself to fully relax. 

_ And the best part is, he can take more. _

"Are you ready for what comes next?"

Dean groaned.

"Is that a no?" teased Castiel.

"At your command, sir." Dean even managed an edge of sass.

_ He can take  _ so much  _ more. _

"Excellent." Castiel smiled, kissing at Dean's neck. "Get up."

As Dean scrambled, tottering, to obey, Castiel rose more slowly, letting his pants pool around his ankles.

"I'm going to draw a bath."

Dean had definitely earned seeing Castiel naked. Castiel stepped out of his pants, fingers working at the buttons of his vest and shirt.

"You are going to make this room immaculate."

Shrugging out of his clothing, he leaned forward, offering Dean a view of his fucked hole.

"And if I'm satisfied with the job you do, perhaps I will allow you to join me in the tub."

He glanced back over his shoulder. Dean's expression was pinched, hungry, his cock still hard. A single drop of pre-come beaded at the end of his dick and splashed to the floor.

"Spotless," Castiel reminded him. "Do you understand?"

_ God, I adore him. _

"Yes, sir," Dean replied hoarsely.

“Oh...and you’re going to wear this…” Castiel fumbled at his pants pocket until he found the bullet vibrator, palming the remote that went with it. Dean’s eyes went wide but he nodded, breath stuttering when Castiel lazily slicked his hand with Dean’s spit and Castiel’s release and coated the dildo. “I hope that won’t be too distracting?”

“No, sir,” breathed Dean. “However you command.” And he obediently turned around, bent to present his ass, and let Castiel slide the toy into his hole and up against his prostate.

_ Oh, Dean... _

_...no, I should say this aloud, I should tell him. _

"Oh, Dean...I missed you so much. I'm so, so glad you're back."

"I'm so glad to be back, sir," said Dean. Castiel pressed the vibrator button on the remote and his skin tingled in sympathy with Dean’s shudder. The stimulation only gave him momentary pause, though; Dean dropping to squat, opened the sink vanity, and carefully removed the cleaning supplies. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Castiel an oddly shy half-smile. "So, so glad to be yours."

_ I am yours. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got one chapter to go. I'm gonna stop writing now. If a miracle happens, I might actually manage to write and edit the whole thing in the next few hours, so I can wipe my hands of this nonsense, but otherwise I'll try to finish over the weekend or next Tuesday. No promises, since I never meet them anyway, but I'll do my best.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hey look, I did the thing. (holy crap, I can't believe I pulled that off...I just wrote 4k and edited 10 pages in under three hours...)

Dean's phone vibrated in his back pocket. He shouldn’t check it while he was at work - too distracting - but Bobby had spent half of lunch mocking Dean for how out of it he was. He’d already spilled a half-quart of oil on himself, and he’d already whacked his head into the hood of a car, and he’d already slammed his foot when he closed a trunk door, and he’d already come within a hairs breadth of lowering a sedan onto Ash. It was Friday, and each minute crept by like a year dividing him from 5 PM and freedom, and  _ nothing _ on his phone could possibly be more distracting than his wandering thoughts of what awaited him for the evening.

_ Castiel (4:26 PM): I expect you here promptly at 5:20, or the consequences will be dire. _

Dean’s swallowed, his cock throbbed, and fucking  _ hell _ , maybe he  _ could  _ be more distracted. Twisting to stash his phone again, his clothes snagged the chain connecting the nipple clamps he’d worn to work every day that week. The clamps tugged at his aching, bruised flesh, and his cock twitched again.

_ Awesome, cause what can make today better? An erection at work. _

_ This fucking jumpsuit shows  _ everything _. Especially when it’s still slick with motor oil. _

_ Mmmm...slick… _

_ Mmmm...oil… _

“I still own your ass for another 30 minutes, Winchester!” Bobby snapped.

_ And after I leave, Castiel owns my ass for the weekend, and my dick, and...all of me. _

_ Fuck my life. _

As Dean turned back to the car under-carraige he was working on, there was no rancor in the potentially bitter thought. 

_ Heck, there’s reason to hope my life will be fucked in the best possible way.  _

Dean was worked up because he was excited, not because he was angry, and it was a novel feeling after so long with Rowena. For months, he’d been unhappy that his dom occupied his time. He’d lingered late at work on Fridays to avoid her, resented that he’d be sacrificing so much of his time and effort for someone who didn’t give a shit about him. He’d gone anyway, because he knew what he deserved, or thought he did, but comparing how he’d felt even a few Fridays ago to how he felt today was night and day. Cas was going to make Dean’s life  _ hell _ , and Dean  _ couldn’t fucking wait _ . It felt  _ awesome _ to be eager again, to want again, to be excited at the prospect of submission. He had no idea what Cas had planned, beyond the promise that tonight was the end of Dean’s punishment and he’d finally get to come, but he wasn’t worried. 

Cas would give Dean what he needed.

Cas would give Dean what he  _ deserved _ .

_ Will he really? _

The thoughts continued, idle, as Dean adjusted and wrenched and installed and checked his project. 

_ After all, do I really deserve anything? Rowena never thought I did. But...maybe that’s not right, not fair to her. She’s clever - she knew the ground parameters for our relationship. As she said, she knew I wanted to be punished and she did her best, as my domme, to deliver what I as a sub said I wanted. I should get down on my knees, kiss the hem of her dress, give her those licks behind her knees that always made her quiver...because I shouldn’t judge what kind of domme she  _ might have been  _ based on the kind of domme she was toward me. She gave me what I wanted and needed at the time. _

_ And now I want and need Cas. _

_ And I get to have him. _

_ How incredible is that? _

Dean turned, ostensibly to reach for another tool, but really to feel the tug of the nipple clamps again. Wearing them so long had, physically, done him more harm than good. Bruises circled the sensitive flesh, and he could hardly touch his chest without pain. But mentally? Wearing them had been  _ essential.  _ He’d spent most of his weeknights at home, alone, switching between getting hard while thinking about Cas, and getting depressed while thinking about Cas.

_ I want him so badly...is any of this even real?...just thinking about him, I want to stroke myself ‘til I explode...but I have to be good, I will  _ not  _ come early...if I misbehave, how will he react? Last time I disobeyed an explicit command, he kicked me out of his life. If I do so again… _

The chain dug into his sternum.

_ No. I’m not replicating this damn back-and-forth at work. Cas didn’t break up with me, and I’ve been a good boy all week, but even if I hadn’t been, it would be okay. _

_ The punishment would have been glorious. _

_ And instead, the reward will be-- _

“Alright, boy, you’re done.” A hand on Dean’s shoulder spun him around to face Bobby, watching him with a cynically raised eyebrow and a half-frown. 

“I’m not done with this job yet.”

“It’s 5:10--”

_ Shit, it is? _

“--and you’ve been staring at that wrench for 3 minutes straight. I don’t know what kinda bee you got up your butt today - please,  _ please  _ don’t fucking tell me, I don’t  _ want  _ to know - but you’re a lawsuit waiting to happen. Go home.” Bobby concluded as if he expected Dean to argue the point, and he looked shocked when Dean dropped the wrench and bolted toward the employee lockers, fingers already scrambling at the zipper of his jump suit. 

If he was late, what would Cas do? What would Cas say? He’d promised Dean could come that night, and Cas  _ never  _ broke his word, but there were a  _ lot  _ of ways he could turn that promised bliss into a punishment. As much as Dean enjoyed being teased and tempted and made to wait, if he was honest with himself - and he  _ had  _ to be honest with himself, or else he wasn’t together enough to be scening - he couldn’t face being frustrated, not after how long he’d waited for this - the last two weeks, the last two years…

_...forever, if I’m being truly honest, because even when we were together then, it was only six months, and we were always navigating our relationship, guessing about each other, sounding each other out. I could never be sure of my own feelings, much less his. _

Dean nearly tumbled as he kicked out of his work clothes, stuffing them into the duffle. 

_ But now, I’m sure. _

In his haste, he knocked half the contents of his locker to the floor.

_ I’ve thought of no one else for two damn years. _

Cursing up a blue streak, he scrambled to throw it all back in, slammed the locker shut, hefted his bag, and bolted. 

_ And when Cas says he feels the same...I believe him. _

He could swear he heard Bobby laughing behind him, the fucker, but he didn’t dare pause long enough to check.

_ Not merely because I  _ want  _ to believe him - believing him is terrifying, disbelieving would be way easier - but because he proves his affection in every action, every consideration, every touch, every glance. _

Dean’s phone vibrated again. Grabbing for it as he pushed out of the shop’s door, he took off down the street at a trot and fumbled to see his latest message.

_ Castiel (5:15 PM): 5 minutes, boy. _

_...proves the truth in every reminder, every indication that he wants this as badly as I do, every time he sets me up for success. _

_ And I  _ must  _ succeed. _

Pushing himself to a sprint, Dean took off toward Cas’ apartment. It was usually a 15 minute walk, and even at his best, Dean had never run better than a 6 or 7 minute mile, but fuck if he didn’t try his hardest. For the first time all day, his thoughts quieted as he focused on his body. His calves and quads burned with every pump of his legs. His chest heaved with every frantic breath. The duffel bag smacked into his back. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The nipple clamps tore at his chest. At half-mast, his cock knocked into one thigh, then the other, then back. 

He wasn’t going to make it.

He had to go  _ faster _ .

With an animal snarl, Dean put on a burst of speed, dodging among other pedestrians, nearly getting his ass hit by a car when he jaywalked at top speed. Honking horns pursued him, but he didn’t bother shouting an apology. They’d never hear him, and besides, he wasn’t sorry.

_ If whoever the fuck that was had the promise of fucking Cas Novak in front of them, they’d sprint too. _

_ But they don’t. _

_ Only I get to have him. _

That delicious thought gave Dean the ultimate incentive, and he bolted the last block as if running for his life. 

He was.

Cas was his life.

_ That doesn’t sound healthy. _

He was so close to getting the reward he’d earned.

_ Neither is running this fast. _

Shit, he needed a key.

_ Not getting to fuck that perfect bottom ain’t healhty either. _

Stopping before Cas’ door so abruptly that he smacked into the glass, Dean scrambled at his pocket, hand shaking with exertion.

_ I never was much one for health anyway. If I were, this run would have been less of a pain. _

He had no idea what time it was, no clue if he’d made it in time. It took three tries to get the key in the lock, another two to actually get the door open, and then he stumbled across the lobby. The elevator, mercifully, was on the ground floor, and the door opened as soon as he smacked the button.

He stepped in.

And checked the clock on his phone.

And it was 5:21 PM.

He was too late. 

Cas was never one to accept “close enough.” And nor should he be. Dean knew what time he was expected, had every reason to be punctual...there was no excuse for tardiness.

The twenty seconds it took to ascend to the correct floor were the longest, most awful moments of Dean’s entire life.

Okay, that was bullshit - the same 20 second descent, two years ago, after Cas told him to leave and not come back... _ those _ had been the longest, most awful moments of Dean’s entire. fucking. life.

But these 20 seconds? A close, endless runner up.

Despondent, he trudged down the hall, selected the correct key, and unlocked Cas’ door.

“Hey, C--”

Before he could finish his greeting, before he could finish stepping into the apartment, Cas...his master, Castiel,  _ sir _ ...was on him, pulling him, slamming the door, pushing Dean against the door, knocking his barely-caught breath from his lungs.

“You’re late,” Castiel hissed furiously, his forearm powerful beneath Dean’s chin, forcing Dean’s head back and up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean mumbled. He blinked back tears; Castiel looked immaculate, as always, shirt buttoned to the neck, hair styled in the imitation of a mess, eyes gleaming. He was gorgeous, and now Dean wouldn’t get to--

“Don’t be  _ sorry _ ,” snarled Castiel. “One time offer - one chance at forgiveness.” Hope flared in Dean’s chest, tore through his gloom, gathered heat in his crotch. “I’ve waited too long for this. I’m not letting your  _ fuck up _ ruin it.”  _ Me too, sir, God how I’ve waited _ . “There  _ will  _ be consequences, but we can discuss them another time. Right now, you have one fucking chance to make things right and take what you want.”

Dean’s jaw dropped.

“Give me what I  _ need _ ,  _ boy _ ,  _ right the fuck now _ , or there will be  _ hell _ to pay. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Dean didn’t wait until he was done speaking to act. Now meant  _ now _ . With a roar, he grabbed the lapels of Castiel’s shirt and  _ tore _ . Buttons popped free and fabric ripped as the shirt gave way under Dean’s strength. Castiel’s delighted laugh spurred Dean on; this was what Castiel wanted. Dean wanted, craved,  _ needed it  _ too. Pushing aside the shirt, Dean wrapped one hand around Castiel’s waist, got the other under his ass, and hefted him. The adrenaline from his run surged through him; Castiel weighed nearly as much as Dean did, but the weight was as nothing. Dean was dizzy, from his sprint, from his desire, and with Castiel clinging to him, he found the strength to lift, to walk, to stumble across the spotless living room, down the hall, toward Castiel’s bedroom. 

“Just like that,” Castiel growled in his ear, interspersing kisses and bites amongst the words. Castiel’s arms were powerful around Dean’s neck, his legs lifting to curl around Dean’s waist. “Never shoulda given you an ultimatum I couldn’t enforced.” Castiel’s bulk pressed into Dean’s chest, squeezed at the clamps, the fine-linked chain digging into his skin. “But one more misstep--” Castiel’s back slammed into the bedroom door and he broke off with a grunt. For a terrified moment, Dean thought that counted as a misstep, but Castiel firmed one arm around Dean’s neck, released the other, fumbled behind himself until he found the door handle, and let them in. “--one more misstep and I will  _ take  _ what I need and leave you with  _ nothing _ .”

“I’ll be good,” Dean promised. The alternative was unthinkable. With a final burst of strength, Dean threw Castiel onto the bed, fingers tearing at the fly of his pants as he followed. His cock ached, so hard, so neglected. He hadn’t fucked Castiel in so long, hadn’t come inside that hole in so. damn. long. Castiel’s desperation mirrored his own. To see his unflappable dom frantically undoing his own belt, thumbing at the button of his own trousers, freeing his perfect ass from his boxer-briefs…

_ Am I really allowed to take? Is it really okay that he’s not in control? How can this be Castiel? How can these be his orders? _

...and catching a glimmer off the lubricant already thick around that splendid, tight hole…

_...because he wants me as desperately as I need him. _

Something in Dean’s brain  _ snapped _ .

A guttural noise tore from him as Dean flung himself at the bed, flung himself at Castiel. Castiel grunted surprise but didn’t resist as Dean grabbed him and tossed him onto his belly. The bed frame squealed protest, but Dean didn’t give a  _ shit _ . His cock was free, and Castiel’s ass was bared, and Dean needed nothing else. Smothering Castiel’s body with his own, Dean mounted him, flattened him, hips already rutting, cock slapping at the fabric of Castiel’s shirt, slotting into the crease of his ass, balls smacking the waistband of his pants.

“Yes,” Castiel crowed. “Don’t you  _ dare _ stop.”

“Nev…” The word caught in Dean’s throat, unutterable, irrelevant. He had to get what he needed,  _ had  _ to get his dick in that wet, hot tightness. Digging one hand into Castiel’s shoulder to hold him down, he used the other to line himself up, and with a single hard thrust he was  _ in _ .

Castiel  _ sobbed _ .

Bliss exploded through Dean’s body. He drew back -  _ don’t you dare stop  _ \- and his hips surged forward immediately with all his strength -  _ take what you want _ \- and then pulled out again -  _ give me what I need _ \- and thrust forward again. 

“Yes--”

Dean’s hips snapped forward.

“--fucking  _ yes _ , Dean--”

Dean’s hips pulled back.

“--just like that--”

Dean’s dick slid back in, deep, Castiel’s rim a tight ring of friction that drove him wild. 

“--never stop--”

There was no thought save chasing that feeling, amplifying it, growing enraptured with it. 

“--never fucking stop!”

Castiel  _ never  _ lost control, but he sounded half-mad now, hands gripping at the blankets, ass fucking up against Dean’s body. There was no synchronicity to their movements; with every thrust out, with every buck up, Dean nearly pulled free, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to slow down enough to care. Castiel’s threat rang in his ears, that if Dean didn’t do this, if Dean didn’t seize this ineffable moment, Castiel would deny him once more. Being denied now would  _ break him _ , and if the alternative was breaking Castiel…

...Dean  _ knew _ Castiel wouldn’t break.

And so Dean lost himself: in desperate huffed breaths, in Castiel’s garbled encouragement, in the push and pull of their bodies together. An especially enthusiastic thrust freed Dean from Castiel’s body; his dick slapped into Castiel’s balls, lube making a mess between Castiel’s legs. They matched each other in frantically reaching to correct the mistake. Castiel’s ass was raised and ready, his hole reddened, his rim fluttering at nothing; both their hands grasped Dean’s cock, Castiel pulling him into place so hard it hurt, and then he was embedded once more in glory and ecstasy. Castiel was supple and eager beneath him, riding back against him with every thrust forward. The mattress shook and knocked against the wall as Dean let go every inhibition that had ever held him back.

Castiel had  _ demanded _ this of Dean.

And Dean had never more  _ gloriously  _ obeyed his dom.

And so he fucked, and he fucked, and he fucked, pressure building in his gut, bliss radiating from his dick, his mind a senseless wash of pleasure and desire and need and utter devotion to his dom, his power bottom, his  _ Castiel _ .

Castiel’s frantic gasp and sudden clench were the only indication Dean had when Castiel came. There were no words, no thanks, no praise; Castiel sobbed into the bedding, pushing back against Dean with such urgency that Dean could hardly keep up with him. And if that was what Castiel needed? Dean would give it to him, as he’d been ordered to, as he longed to more than anything. His movements were erratic, his thighs and abs aching with the strain of the punishing pace he’d assumed, but he kept going, kept going.

Castiel went limp beneath him, whimpering over-stimulation into a pillow.

Dean couldn’t stop.

Pressure and desire and bliss twisted through his body, tensing every muscle, dissolving his thoughts into a litany of  _ need, need, need _ , chanted into the silence of his mind - chanted aloud, perhaps, he couldn’t tell - in time with his urgent thrusts and the  _ slap, slap, slap _ of his thighs against Castiel’s ass and the  _ fwish, squelch, fwish, squelch  _ of his cock sliding in and out of Castiel’s hole.

“...Deaaaaaaan…” Something in Castiel’s weak drawl broke through Dean’s awareness. He couldn’t stop moving, eyes overflowing with tears, spit leaking down his chin, hands grasping at Castiel’s hips to pull him back into every thrust. But he could listen - he could try to focus - he could heed the whisper of fear that suggested he’d gone too far, lost too much control, done something disobedient. His concerns were a quelling swirl of cold, combining with his arousal to force more tears from his eyes. He couldn’t stop, but maybe he needed to, maybe Castiel needed him to, and-- 

“Come for me.”

With a howling sob, the tension within Dean released with a snap of shattering reality. Reduced to pure sensation, Dean  _ obeyed _ , thrusting even as his come spurted. His muscles gave way and he crumpled, smearing his face into Castiel’s back, soaking his shirt with tears and sweat. His body shuddered and shook, his movements stuttering and slowing as his urgency was supplanted by wave upon wave of satisfaction and pleasure. Bliss bowled him over, blanked him, remade him, and he came back to himself still rolling against Castiel’s ass, mumbling nothing into fabric that dried his lips, crying like a damn moron.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t  _ want _ to stop.

He felt so  _ incredible. _

“Dean?” Castiel murmured, twisting so that he could meet Dean’s gaze. Dean managed a dopey smile; Castiel looked as wrecked as Dean felt, and it was adorable. His hair was matted to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and the blue of his eyes shrunk to the merest ring by his large, dark pupils. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” Dean tried to say, but the merest air rasped from his throat. His head spun as another surge of pleasure dissipated through him, followed hard by pain as the clamps on his nipples pinched. Alarm knit Castiel’s brow, and the words to tell him not to worry also couldn’t win free. Castiel twisted, nudging Dean off him; Dean tumbled to his back on the bed, biting back a deprived cry as his softening dick came free of Castiel’s glorious heat. A flicker of abandonment beat at his awareness, but it faded in an instant as Castiel shifted over him, straddled him, cupped his cheeks, and stared down at him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean mumbled. There were his words. He lifted a wobbly arm and wiggled out a silly wave. It was dumb, but it made him laugh - first a small chuckle, and then a gale, until he was sobbing with his delight, until Castiel was too, hunched over him, laughing deeply and splendidly against his throat, licking and kissing and worshipping Dean’s cheek, his neck, his ear.

“You were so good,” Castiel whispered, and though the words were praise, the tone was as if Castiel was giving a vow. “So perfect.”  _ Yes, I was - I  _ was  _ perfect, I did exactly as you asked, for this entire week, for tonight...and you promised me ecstasy as a reward, and you delivered. _ “My sweet boy…”  _...my darling most excellent dom...  _ “...my Dean…”

_...my Castiel... _

“...Cas…” No words could express what was in Dean’s head; even if he tried he had no confidence he’d speak intelligibly. He was overwrought, his head yet spinning, his chest yet hurting, his thoughts still aswirl of satisfaction. But there wasn’t the least whisper of doubt left. Dean knew where he belonged, and knew what he deserved, and knew what he wanted. Reaching up, he encircled Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close, nuzzling into Castiel’s neck. They lay there together, trading lazy kisses, until finally the heat dissipated, the red faded from Castiel’s cheeks, and their breathing slowed. Only then did Castiel lean up, shirt flaps loose over his bare, muscular chest, and offer Dean a breathtaking smile.

“May I take care of you now?” asked Castiel, tenderness achingly pure in his voice.

“...forever…?” The request escaped Dean as the merest breath of air before he realized it was inappropriate to say and far too much to ask. Denials and corrections rushed to his lips, and he looked up to meet Castiel’s gaze and apologize…

...and was arrested by what he saw there. Castiel’s eyes were wide, glimmering, rimmed with tears, his mouth agape. “Is that…” Castiel licked his lips, swallowed, blinked away tears. “Is that really what you want? It’s...it’s okay if you don’t. I know you didn’t...I don’t expect...I mean--”

_ You silly, perfect, gorgeous idiot of a man. _

“Hush.” Dean reached up and lay a finger over Castiel’s lips. Castiel silenced, pursing his mouth into a gentle kiss on Dean’s calloused knuckle. 

_ No - after the way I’ve treated him? He’s entitled to his doubts. _

“I want this,” Dean vowed.

_ And he’s entitled to have me quell them. _

“I want  _ you _ , Castiel.”

_ Because I’ve had two years to think about what I want, and I know now. _

“More than anything.” 

“Then forever is yours, Dean. I’m yours. Always.” 

Dean had observed Castiel through a rainbow of emotions - enraged, depressed, elated, joyful - but the grateful devotion he wore now, in his expression, in the ease of his shoulders, in the gentleness with which he brushed his fingers over the curves of Dean’s face? This was new, and it was perfect.

They still had a lot to talk about, a lot to work through, a lot of understandings to come to. They had kink to negotiate. There would be arguments, and struggles, and battles for control. There would be scenes that went wrong, and times when sub drop left Dean feeling useless, and times when dom drop left Castiel in a fury. There would be real life reverses and struggles. Maintaining their relationship would be  _ work _ , always. And, despite that...

“I’m so glad I came back to you, Cas.”

Dean knew now - they’d work through those challenges,  _ together _ .

“I’m so glad you  _ wanted  _ to come back to me, Dean.”

After all, they had forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short bonus:
> 
> That same Friday night, Rowena goes to Club H - not for a playmate, but for a drink. She heads straight to the bar and greets Meg with a broad smile.
> 
> "It's done."
> 
> "It *is*?"
> 
> "It is. Those morons are finally back together."
> 
> "Thank fucking *God*. I thought I was going to have to...I don't know...stab Cas Novak or something to get him to pull his head out of his ass."
> 
> "And *Dean.* How can one living person engage in *that much* self-flagellation?"
> 
> "I have been extremely impressed with your restraint with him. I'd have dumped his ass to the curb months ago."
> 
> "Eh, he was a fun moppet surprisingly often. Very good with his tongue. Anyway - thank you for your help. I couldn't have made this happen without you."
> 
> "It was my pleasure. Anything to not have Novak moping around the place any longer. Anyway, we've wasted enough time on those morons. If you're in the market for a new sub, I know someone else who is very good with their tongue..."
> 
> Meg licks her lips suggestively.
> 
> Rowena grins.
> 
> And that's that. ;)


End file.
